The Mistress
by Meridian Diamond
Summary: Rin's a rich orphan who inherited all her father's possessions but she wants to hire a personal thief for her own gain. Len's a bandit in the streets of London who's looking for something. If he tagged along with someone rich, he'll get leads to it. It's not about the person, it's about the connections. Loyalty is too overrated; it's easily taken. Can you replace it of equal value?
1. C1: The Applicant

**The Mistress**

March 13th 1888

A cold wind blew over the trees of the mansion's garden, the direction of the rain pouring changing. The lights of the lampposts were flicking on and off, the only light source of the mile-long mansion pavement that lead to the large gates was going out. The darkness was starting to cover the entire neighbourhood, occasionally belittling into shadows when the lightning flashed.

The rain can't get any stronger than this, though: It's been raining for weeks, and this must be the hardest downpour yet: Although, the water rose from an inch to an ankle-length over the night.

Even so, the guards of the mansion had still managed to keep themselves at their posts to watch over the suspicious passers-by who are most likely the next house's intruders or something.

But that didn't stop this specific person to materialise from the shadows.

He gave a small grunt when he found his cloak wet with the rain, but made sure to not be heard. His shoes were wet, too, and they were leather. Well, he thought, smirking as his piercing blue eyes glinted in the dark, this is not the time to be vain.

There was no other place to look for a job: This was it. He'd tried everything else: Painting, sculpting, pottery, cleaning, serving, waiting. . . They just weren't _him_. He was a naturally clumsy boy, but can be sly when it came to what he knew best, coming from the streets. . .

Everyone knows sweets are sweeter when stolen.

He made sure to comb his hair with what he could when he saw the advertisement at the sign post earlier: His unknowing client must be very firm when it came to proper etiquette, and he had to be at his very best behaviour. This was his last chance to nail a job, and he can't afford to make a misfire.

He pulled his hood over his head and motioned to the wall, leaning his back against it. He could hear audible whispers coming from the guards at the other side of the wall, and smirked when he concluded that they were distracted. The lightning flashed, and the thunder roared: The sound was deafening, and he had to cover his ears so that he won't lose a sense.

One of the guards asked the other, "Some storm, eh?"

"Tell me 'bout it, mate."

What pathetic guards, they were drunk. Getting in was much easier than he'd thought it'd be.

He vanished into the shadows as he snuck in, leaving no trace of his presence.

…

There were times when she'd suddenly wake up at night, shivering from the cold. She didn't think they'd start happening again: These pitiful dreams. When will she ever get over them? A cold shiver ran down her spine again, and she massaged her arms to keep herself warm.

Her nightgown was specially made, and imported from France: She'd heard the silk from France kept bad dreams away, but she hated herself for believing such superstitions. But, all the more, she hated memories.

_A thumping sound was heard at the door —_

She gasped, clutching her chest. Good God, she was covered in sweat: She needed a change, but she had guessed her servants were asleep, and she didn't even know how to button herself, let alone put on the fabric.

She lay down on her bed again, her head being squished deeper in the cushion.

"Tsk, ghosts. . ." she murmured, turning to her other side of the bed, "Never even bother to check if they exist."

She slowly closed her eyes, her vision darkening: She really wanted to sleep, but she can't. Her room was so quiet, she felt her heart beating, and they boomed out of her ears: Aside from that noise, her grandfather clock across the room was ticking loudly, and she can't sleep without someone singing her nightly lullaby. Besides, her windows were locked, and the rain's noise won't ever get through.

Slowly, though, she was drifting off to an unconscious sleep, and she felt at peace once again.

Silence to her seemed louder than anything in the world, like a kind of noise, but this was the only time when she felt that silence was a sort of music, played by God's angels. How she wished the night would stay this beautiful, how the sounds were in harmony, synchronising with the silence's melody: The night's beauty was so —

"Oh dammit!"

. . .fleeting.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she woke with a start: She'd heard something hit her floor, and she was jolted awake. Well! This better be worth her cut of beauty sleep — ahem, not like she _needed_ them. . . Heh.

"Ex_cuse_ me!" the girl cried, rubbing her eyes lazily and yawning, but that didn't stop the shock and anger from rising in her voice. "But what are your concerns for breaking in my household at this time of night? This is no way to treat a daughter of a lord!"

When she opened her eyes, her heart stopped: In the moonlight, she could see — from what little she can — a young man in a strapping cloak, wearing a black vest over a sort of button-down shirt that had long sleeves. His presence would have been exciting — _stimulating_, even — had he not fallen to the floor from her open window. He was massaging his sore head with his hand, and while he was, the girl decided to take her time studying the boy's features: He must've been around her age, older or so, and had as light blond hair as she did. He didn't look . . . scary, that's for sure. Well, creepy, in her opinion, but in another kind of way. She also noticed he was wearing everything as black, to maybe conceal his movements and figure in the dark.

He was dressed rather _appropriately_ for someone who was trying to steal her stuff.

The boy gave a grunt, and he looked up at the girl, who pulled up her covers so he wouldn't see her in her . . . _lingerie_ thing. His eyes widened and he got up, and it was then the girl realised he was sopping _wet_, and it just occurred to her that it had been raining outside. But what she said didn't exactly mirror what she thought.

"What in the world are you doing, you rat? You're getting my carpet wet!" she shrieked as quietly as she could: She didn't know why, though. Must she be calling the servants now? Why wasn't she?

"Ah, s-sorry, my lady!"

The boy stumbled for words, apparently not able to see in the dark seeing as he stepped on her clothing rack and it clattered to the floor.

The girl threw her covers to the bed and stood up, almost giggling at the sight: This boy sure was foolish. She decided to make fun of him more and added, "The rain's going to get inside, what are you doing?"

"R-right to it!"

This is official: She hadn't laughed this hard since, well, _ever_. The boy hit his face on the windowsill and, after recovering, closed the windows until his finger got caught.

He let out a loud swear, and he started to whimper like a lost puppy.

"That was fun!" the girl giggled, closing her mouth. The boy flushed a deep colour of red, and he turned away to hide his blush. "But that doesn't mean you're getting away with this, thief."

"I-I'm not a thief!" he protested weakly, biting his sore fingers. That wasn't very convincing, though. When someone crashes into your house — through window, no less — in the middle of the night, it's not like they came for tea. "I swear to God, I'm not! At least, not accidentally!"

"What rubbish are you saying?" the girl snapped, yawning. "I'm giving you ten counts until you get your sorry bottom outside —"

"I came here for a proposal!"

The girl stopped, and stared at the lunatic as though he'd just gone crazier. Then she pushed him to her door, ignoring his spluttering, "I'm not here to give anyone my hand in marriage, thanks, but I'm awfully flattered — well, not really — so if you'd just _get your sorry arse_ out —"

"NO!" The boy fell to his knees, hugging the girl's legs — the girl gave a loud yelp as he did, snapping her legs together in embarrassment — she was wearing this long nightgown that was _transparent_, so, yeah — and pressed his face against her thighs.

"G-get away, you r-rude idiot!" she screeched, blushing madly when he hugged her legs tighter.

"No! Not until you hear me out!" he said. He was either a pervert or he didn't really know what he was doing.

"OKAY, OKAY!" she yelled, not wanting for the boy to get any _further up_, if you know what this means. The boy gasped and stood up, straightening himself: Of course, he wasn't _aware_ what he just did.

"Y-you will?" the boy said, his eyes sparkling with hope.

"Hell no." The girl unlocked her door and shoved him outside, but he just let himself back in.

The girl was tapping her foot impatiently. "God, you're aggravating."

The boy smiled weakly and combed his hair with his fingers and bowed, his wet cloak fluttering heavily behind him. He looked as though he rehearsed this, seeing as he looked so _practised_ with these kinds of things.

"I am here to make a proposal, my Lady," he said, again, and he rose, standing straight with his shoulders squared. To the girl, she concluded that he was simply just caught in the spur of the moment and hadn't brought himself up to act like a gentleman until this point. Judgemental as she was, she had thought he was simply a clumsy, incompetent fool: But she stood there corrected. "I will not have come here at this time of night in this mansion where the highest security is placed and can barely be breeched had it been about anything else."

The girl nodded, trying to find faults in his words, but was irritated when she found none at all. No hesitation, no lie: It seemed as though this boy had arranged for everything to go well this night. Had he been an ordinary housebreaker, he would have killed her at the spot. Or _worse_.

"I have read the signs posted at the buildings across the city, and I'd gone directly to the place indicated." His voice was smooth, like he was a kind of servant who had just gone back from an assignment and she was the master. "I've read the heir of this mansion was looking for a servant."

"Who will give me everything I ask for," the girl supplied, recalling the words she herself had recited for her servants to write. He was good. And he must have been desperate enough to find a job. The boy nodded firmly, but, unable to look at her eyes without blushing, he looked like he was nodding stiffly. The girl stood at her ground, scratching her chin, and half-glanced at the grandfather clock that sat at the corner of the room: She could barely see the face, but the moonlight gave off enough light to cast shadows, and the girl could only guess that it's already a quarter after midnight.

"You could have come later," the girl mumbled absently, feeling herself go dizzy with sleepiness. "But you didn't. I'd guess you came this night so you can get here before any other applicants do, no?"

The boy opened his mouth to reply, but the girl cut him off, "And, perhaps, to persuade me, if things somehow go wrong? Yes, that sounds predictable. A romantic night when rain is pouring heavily — the moon can't give off much light through the clouds except dimly, and at a time when every servant is asleep. You know well of this, don't you?"

The boy blinked: Then, unable to hold himself, he smirked. "Yes."

The girl sneered: She could easily figure anyone out. "And what makes you think I'll let you in on the job?"

"I'm the best."

"That's what they all say."

That was when chills ran down the girl's spine: The boy had moved so quickly, she didn't see how he could have pinned her to the wall with her wrists gripped by his hands. She felt his hot breath tickle her neck, but she was so used to this, she was unaffected: She suppressed a smile, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I have to say, your skills are incomparable."

The boy didn't move: He was too busy staring into her deep blue eyes. The girl, however, didn't notice this and was unfazed.

"And how do you intend to get me _all_ that I want?" The girl said, testing the boy. "I'm a spoiled, stubborn daughter of a lord. This may be hard for you, you know."

The boy's grip on her wrists tightened: She felt like screaming at their closure, but she might give herself away.

"I know it's going to be difficult," the boy whispered, sighing. "But I've got no other ways of living."

The girl felt her heart explode: What was he saying?

"Didn't you hear me, you wet rat?" she said as the boy's wet clothes pressed against her thighs. "How do you intend to get me everything I ask for?"

The boy looked like he was ashamed of his 'expertise,' like a child who just stole a lollipop from his friend. "You're willing to give me my job?"

He's sly. "We'll see about that."

The boy hesitated, and suddenly, warmth spread all over the girl's body. "What if, by some circumstances, you won't? What if I fail to convince you, or if you refuse my method?"

He was leading her to something illegal, and she knew it. "Will you be loyal? Will you ever leave me?"

The boy's grip loosened on her wrists, which was both a relief and a sort of disappointment to the girl, but he inched his face closer to hers. "I'll always be by your side. . ."

His nose was pressed against hers now, and his lips were mere centimetres from hers, "And I'll never leave you. . ."

"Hold up, Pauper."

The girl had unrealistically managed to get away from his grip and had pressed her hand against his soft lips: The expression on his face was comical.

"I need to know how you think you're going to give me all I want," the girl demanded, her hands on her hips. She was back to her old demanding self again, the boy realised. He shouldn't have expected anything less of her; she's the daughter of a lord, after all. "Or else I'm calling the servants."

The boy panicked, yet he kept his composure and said, "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I don't have much of a choice," the girl snapped, glancing at her clock again.

The boy sighed, and said, "It's my way of life. All those who consider it forbidden don't know its advantages, but all those who consider it a way of living know both its benefits and burdens.

"Will you hate me now? I'm a thief."

…

Len couldn't believe he was actually _hired_. He stripped off his cloak and squeezed it, releasing the water: His first duty was to make sure to arrive at his mistress's gates by 9 o'clock the next day. That took him quite a while: That was a first.

He'd heard of the great Oliver Langley the fifteenth, one of the lords in London. He had changed his name, however, to Kagamine, concealing his infamous family's ancestral crimes. Many still consider him as a Langley, ignoring his antecedents' past deeds and regarding him as a great person. He had married a Japanese woman, much to his family's displeasure, but didn't regret his decision. They gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with identical blond hair to her parents.

Len had had a thought, though: There must be a relation between this lord's girl and himself. He figured since a lord has a connection with anyone around the globe, they might know who his parents are. And, if they still are alive, he might as well live with them so he could at least get shelter and food every boy deserved.

Living in the streets wasn't very rewarding, to be honest. Len coughed loudly, wiping dirt off his face as he placed his wet clothes on the iron board he, for lack of better word, _borrowed_ from this cranky old lady across the street. He'd never owned anything: All the neat clothes he had were from the store nearby, and he had to use them again to make a better figure to the lord's daughter.

The rain poured down heavily, but it was worse a while ago: Len had to sleep; he had a big day tomorrow. But he knew he had more work to do. He hadn't eaten anything for a while now. There was this bakery at the corner of the street, but the chefs there ratted him out already.

He sighed and, looking over his shoulder for a second, stripped off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt: Sleeping in his 'professional' clothes won't do him anything. He folded them neatly and put them at the corner of the alley — he lived in the alley — and went over to the chicken wire that hung from the lamppost and tied to the garbage bin and took one of the shirts that he hung there.

Life for him was enough, and it's going to get better tomorrow, he always thought to himself before he let sleep come to him. He lied down on the cotton bed that he _recycled_ from the dump.

He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come, but he was so excited about the next day he couldn't sleep to let the night pass. He hoped he wouldn't screw up this time.

The last thing that came to his mind before he went out of the state of consciousness was how he still didn't get his mistress's name.

…

Kagamine Rin yawned. Heavens, how long was she asleep? Too long, that's for sure: Her servants had already gathered around her bed, and she was certain there must have been a commotion, seeing as most of them were still in their nightwear.

"Would you keep your dirty faces from pressing against mine?" Anybody who knew her well knew she wasn't a morning person, and unfortunately never will be. Her maids immediately raised their heads and apologised profusely, bowing down.

"We're s-sorry, our Lady," they said in chorus. Rin waved her hand loftily and held her nose high.

"Explain."

There was another explosion of different explanations from different persons, and Rin, irritated with the noise, raised her hand again, scowling. One of her head maids, who was probably the only one who had been dressed in the proper uniform, took one step forward and said rather meekly, "Th-there was an intruder last night, Madam."

Rin's eyebrows were almost a straight line now. "An intruder? Surely you don't mean to say that the guards failed to —"

The maids started to whisper accusations at each other again and Rin shot her hand up in the air. "I assure you, Maids, none of you will lose your jobs."

They all gave a sigh of relief.

Rin thought about this for a moment, and recalled everything last night.

"_I'm a thief."_

That sounded perfect: Just what she wanted.

She rubbed her temples and gritted her teeth: She was still supposed to meet that boy later.

"Melissa! Meredith!" she called, sliding off her bed and standing straight. Two particular maids nodded at each other and went to her sides respectively. It was Rin's bath time.

"Yes, our Lady."

All of the maids aside from the two by her side left in a line, followed by Rin and the two.

When they came to the hall, the first impression of an ignorant commoner would be the mansion's resemblance to a dome: The mistress's room was as large as the ring hole in the middle of the second floor of the mansion, but the only space between them was the hall. Rin's manor was relatively large, even for a daughter of a lord; there was a gigantic mantelpiece that lit the entire six-floor mansion that could be seen at the ceiling of the sixth floor itself through the ring hole. The corners of the hole were fitted out with embellished gold railings to fence out anybody who might accidentally drop there. On the walls of the hall, there were hundreds — literally _hundreds_ — of portraits hung of royals and ancestors, sometimes associated with an exaggerated background that consisted of commoners bowing at their feet, giving the impression that this house was a property of a respected person. Nobody can afford this much glamour in one floor alone, much less an entire 10-hectare of land, except maybe the queen herself. The house outside was painted, to the master's choice, _black_, because its shade was forbidding, and it brought him memories of his old childhood past that he tried so hard to forget. In the inside, however, there was no square foot in the mansion that wasn't of the colour of _yellow_: Rin was this particular type who preferred everything in her favourites, and if no one wants to go her way, she wants them punished. And her father was this particular type who just about spoils her. Rooms were across every corner of the hall: And there were two more halls that lead to the other sides of the mansion: On the left and the right, leading to more halls and more rooms. The ceiling of the second floor was much more pronounced, as this was the floor where the house masters and mistresses slumber. Of course, right at the moment, only Rin was the one vacating the second floor. But as she's prone to easily getting nightmares, she let her maids sleep at the Third Guests' room, as they rarely had any visitors — yes, there were First and Second Guest Rooms that were currently not occupied by anybody. On the first floor of the mansion, only the Kitchen, the Dining Room, several lavatories, the Living Room and the Library were there. The staircase that leads to the other floors was great and grand as well, usually exploding with scarlet and gold colours: There was not a room in the house that was any other colour. Well, except maybe the pink colour Rin decided to take a liking to; that's how princesses live. But pink was a shade of red, right? And gold was to yellow. The mansion is very quiet: No one actually makes any noise here unless the mistress — also known as Rin, in case — throws a tantrum. Occasionally, too, there were times when the mistress wanted to be a bit entertained, so she instructs the maids and servants to play chess at the third floor: There was a room there that was literally a huge chessboard, so the mistress usually lets her servants be the chess pieces. That always kept her entertained. The fourth floor was full of family heirlooms and such, so it's usually not used. The fifth floor, though, was sort of the sports room: As adventurous as the mistress was, she goes up there and learns to spar with one of her trained servants. The sixth floor was full of rooms filled with devices such as the telescope and maps used to navigate, and of course there was the master's office. And so here ends the longest paragraph ever written.

The bathroom was right across the hall, and Rin wanted to get soaked in the orange-scented, bubbly tub right now. Her sandals on the carpet made shoving noises as she elegantly walked to her bathroom, her maids following her suit, each of them bringing bathroom amenities from God knows where.

"M-my Lady. . ." Rin stopped walking and held her nose high_er_ before turning to one of her maids. "What brings you to wake up this early in the morning, if you mind my asking?"

Finding a lie for that would have been easy, but Rin decided to speak the truth, anyway, because she found nothing wrong worth lying about.

"There will be a guest this morning, and I want all of you at your best behaviours," she ordered sharply. The said maid clasped her hands together and gasped. The one next to her asked Rin, "A guest? And what business is his that requires this household?"

"That's sadly it, really: He's a commoner who was looking for a job, and he found our flyers." And with that, Rin motioned for the both of them to keep quiet and continue walking with her. They bowed their heads and did as they were gestured to.

The silence that followed may unease normal people, but Rin was used to silences: She hated it, but it can't be helped. Once they passed by several rooms already, and had made it to the end of the hall, they entered the last room.

The door creaked.

Rin gave a loud grunt, "I want this door varnished and oiled, Meredith, is that clear?"

The maid to her right looked surprised. "Excuse me, my Lady, but having it oiled repeatedly doesn't change how old it already is."

The mistress scoffed and sighed, stepping into the marble bathroom floor. "All right, but I want that door torn down this afternoon and replaced by a newer, shinier one. Got that?"

Meredith looked like she supressed the urge to giggle. "Of course, Madam."

That's right, folks: Rin Kagamine may have been spoiled, cruel, unkind, antagonistic, devilish, and inconsiderate — okay, you get the point — but the maids who'd known her longest knew better than to argue with the young mistress: Her tantrums and demanding commands were merely childish antiques to them. Besides, before everything had gone wrong, she was this happy, bubbly child who won't go anywhere without a smile on her face. And _it_ had to happen. . .

"What are you smiling at, Meredith?" Rin snapped, noticing the corners of her mouth twitching. "Start undressing me, why don't you?"

Rin was getting very impatient: There was a wall clock at the edge of the bathroom that said it was already a quarter to nine, and a lady shan't be late. Especially _this_ lady. The bathroom was, as anyone would have guessed or had enough common sense to know, very wide and spacious: The cat-footed tub was at the very centre of the room and it looked about three feet deep. Even though there was only one person who was allowed to use this bathroom, the said person being obviously Rin, the glamour and hugeness wasn't lacked at all. Sophisticated carvings were etched around the circumference of the tub, each emphasising the letter 'L' rather lavishly. It was the family emblem, and Rin knew better than to wonder why her father made the carver mark it there: Even though the Langley family was infamous for its ancestral crimes and past misdeeds, her father's name was still Oliver Langley, and what his family did won't affect his choices. But, what Rin did wonder was why her father chose to use his wife's surname, Kagamine.

At the corner of the bathroom were counters full of shampoo bottles that were shipped from France, soap from Italy, and no one could possibly use all those in one lifetime.

The mirror was most extraordinary: It had been one of the family's most treasured heirlooms. It was placed at the farthest corner of the room, on the wall facing the door directly: Indeed, it was so large it fit the entire wall.

"Yes, my Lady." Meredith bowed courteously and Melissa hastily went to get a towel while Meredith undressed Rin.

…

He was _so_ late. He'd overslept and had woken an hour later than he was supposed to, and now he was busy brushing his teeth — using a brush _not_ stolen, obviously — in a hurry: He _had_ to make an impression on the Lady. He just _had_ to.

Len picked up the glass of tap water and gurgled: Spitting the toothpaste into the creek, he sipped some more water and spat once more. He wiped the excess paste off his face with his sleeve and was troubled with knotting his bowtie, accidentally almost strangling himself.

He stood, tucking his shirt in his black pants. Len almost slipped until he caught himself, putting his vest on before he ran back up to the bridge.

This Lady was going to kill him. A sudden image of her towering over him with a non-existent carriage-thing with wheels too large for the mechanism appeared in his mind vividly: Then he remembered his dream.

Len tripped, almost hitting the ground but pulled himself back up in the process of falling: The slope was a bit steep — okay, a lot — but it was his only access to water. He may be a pauper but that doesn't mean he had to _act_ like one. Or smell like one. He carried a neatly folded cloak on his right arm and a bowler hat on the other to add some spice. Girls like men with bowler hats, don't they?

When he reached the end of the slope, he was already at the bridge of London: Fresh air greeted him, and a sight to see. Fellow Londoners were off to their work, usually greeting each other as they passed by. The street of Regent Circus wasn't as packed as all the others were. The people who lived here were pleasant, and they occasionally give the poor who sleep at the streets some porridge. Len favoured this part of London, since it makes him feel like he was loved, when in reality he truly wasn't. He conspicuously didn't have, and can never attain the stance all the other boys had, the latter having the air of being well-cared for, which Len had so evidently lacked. The bay was just at the other end of the bridge, under which Len had long decided to do his personal necessities, if you know what this means, such as bathing and brushing his teeth. Of course, he had to do it under low profile, because he didn't want any ladies to get scarred for life.

The street was full of vendors who were giving out low-priced food. However, Len didn't stoop as low as stealing food from them: He had to nail down a restaurant rich with food, not some poor man's shop. He may be a thief, but he wasn't heartless. Len slung his cloak over himself and fastened the button that secured the fabric. He twirled his bowler hat and put it on his head, smoothing down his bangs.

The road that leads to the mistress's mansion across the houses down the lane was made of bricks. Oddly redundant, Len thought, his shiny shoes' heels tapping on the road. But effective.

Now, how late was he? Len looked around the streets for a view of Big ol' Ben, but spotted a flower shop instead. A little smirk played his lips: He can spare a minute or two, eh? Mistress would love to have him for a servant now. . .

…

"Absolutely _no_ morals. . . Such a lying, deceitful peasant. . . So much for the Y chromosome. . . So rude. . . Keeps a lady waiting. . .

"Where on earth is that boy?" Rin screeched at no one in particular. Her servants were already back to their work, although some had chosen to eavesdrop on the mistress's rants, waiting for some . . . well, _scene_ to follow when the unfortunate, unknowing, stupid applicant comes. The young mistress was already very well dressed, sadly: She had even expected the boy to come earlier than she'll finish her bath, so she was 'dolled' up, as some might say. Donning a strapless pink dress that reached the floor, with fluffy white layers and lacy ribbons around her waist and her sleeves; if she wasn't mistaken for a princess, she will be now. Her ribbon was tied purposely on the side of her head tilted a little to the left, making her look a bit childish, but it was an idea not claimed by Rin but her servants.

She stomped her foot, irritated. "I swear, if that boy won't show his ugly arse —"

The door opened, and the second she saw a flash of blond hair, Rin started to react like Medusa.

"How do you think I'll accept you in your job if you keep being late like this?" Rin practically pushed the boy up against the wall: She'd know that dirty blond hair anywhere. Last night, she didn't get a fair view of his face, but now, she had the time to examine him: He really did look like he was older than her, about fourteen or so, with identical blond shades of hair and cerulean eyes. He had quite a stub chin, she must say: Most boys his age must grow a moustache or a beard by now. There was a sort of odd impression he had with him that almost influenced Rin to get hypnotised by him, but she shook that thought away. Unlike most boys, though, he carries an atmosphere around, a tense atmosphere: He didn't look like he was too used to having things proper, and, for Rin, just one delicate influence on him might just shatter his entire being. He was pale, though. Had Rin guessed wrong about him living in the streets? No, she must be right. There wasn't usually a very fair weather in London. Living in the streets will just make his figure a whole lot worse; being in the rain with no shelter. In fact, he was almost as pale as she was. He didn't look as lean as the others did, either. On the contrary, he looked like a fragile child. But he's a lot stronger than he looks, by the way he pinned Rin against the wall last night with such agility, too. The boy's hair was very unruly: He looked like he hadn't combed it for quite a long time. With such a tousled mass for hair, he would have easily been mistaken as a Neanderthal had he not been wearing such formal clothes and a hat to hide it, for all Rin cared.

And . . . they remained staring into each other's eyes for _how_ long?

"A-ah, sorry, my Lady," he apologised, stuttering. He removed his bowler hat and revealed a mass of tousled blond hair that smelled of — what was that faint scent? — Bananas. "It's just that, you know, I b-bought these for you."

Before Rin could react, he pulled out a bouquet of chrysanthemum from behind his back and smiled sheepishly.

"I thought you might like them."

Rin cautiously picked the bouquet — surprising the eavesdropping maids who she knew were listening since she always, like, _snatches_ stuff from anyone's hands — and sniffed them.

"Hmm, I prefer orange-scented. . ." she mumbled absently, losing herself from reality at the strong fragrance.

"I bought them on the way here —"

Rin smiled. Like, not a warm smile, but a creepy evil one. "Liar."

"W-what?"

Rin turned her heel, smiling sincerely now, "You need to lie a whole lot better if you want to continue this job of yours."

The boy gulped. He adjusted his tie and looked at his shoes. "I do. But you're just so good."

"I'm sure you're aware that my father once served in the court?" It pained Rin to talk about her father in such a straight and calm way, but she had to make a good impression on this boy. Show no weakness. She snapped her gloved fingers and a group of servants appeared out of nowhere, taking the bouquet and placing them in the nearest flower pot.

The boy looked bewildered, and cleared his throat loudly.

"I am, Ma'am."

"We shall talk in the Living Room." Rin lead the way, acting like a lady. This was business: She can't let her new servant figure her out. It would be like losing a chess game. The boy closed the two great doors and followed her suit. Behind her, Rin could hear him gasp in the quietest manner, but audible enough to be heard. She supressed a smile and an urge to taunt him: She was a _lady_. Together, they walked in silence at the hall, where, instead of a ceiling, a huge ring hole greeted them from above: The gigantic chandelier hung from the sixth floor, showing no signs of swaying. The marble floor was polished so cleanly the boy behind her almost slipped.

"Try not to slip on the floor, why don't you," Rin said, her voice echoing in the entire mansion. The first floor's Living Room was just a few halls away.

They turned right to enter the second hall and unique tapestries greeted them: All the windows in the mansion were floor to ceiling high, and, right now, as they walked silently but in awe — for the boy — through the hall, they already passed by several rooms, a few windows, and about a hundred paintings.

There were lights at each corner to illuminate the path ahead, once it became dark, the boy supposed. There were ginormous flower pots that sat at the very side of the paintings, and perfectly healthy flowers were planted, despite the lack of oxygen in the mansion.

Which struck the boy as odd.

They reached to a certain point of the hall where there was absolutely abundant light — compared to the other points of the mansion, since it was still dim — and it seemed as though it was the end of this part of the mansion. It was a room with no door, only a fancy threshold that had villa-ish structures: The room was very large, though. As expected of a daughter of a duke.

Everywhere in the Living Room had engraved marks on it that showed the letter 'L,' all too evidently showing how much the family crest was so important to the mansion: There was a large staircase at the end of the room with the second floor of the Living Room very visible from Rin and Len's position, because it took over a quarter of the room's space for the second floor's, well, floor, and the landing was full of golden railings. The second floor had a lot of furniture that seemed so foreign to Len. Maybe they were imported from another country. . . The floor that they're in was practically an explosion of yellow and black colours: The grandfather clock that overlooked everything at the other end of the room was golden yellow, and its other features were black; the couch looked as though it was sewn by golden thread — Len's had his experiences — and the glass table, which was obviously transparent, wasn't left dissimilar by Rin, because the legs were shining _gold_, and the glass was undoubtedly made from obsidian, a mineral that's darker than the night's sky.

Rin elegantly walked to the couch, sitting down in a rather dignified position, crossing her legs. Len just marvelled at the entire place: He was tempted, no doubt. This looked like the _perfect_ place to. . .

He heard a small cough. Len was snapped out of his reverie and back to reality, realising he'd stared at the Living Room for quite a long time, standing in the threshold like an idiot, keeping Rin in waiting.

Well, this was bad.

"Won't you like to discuss matters with me. . ."

Rin stumbled for words, at a loss: She didn't even get his name. What an embarrassing thought for a daughter of a lord. But, as she always told herself, show no weakness. . .

". . . rat?"

Len almost wanted to slap himself for actually _believing_ the Lady will ask for his name. Instead, he shred every sign of regret he showed and replied cheekily to hide his bitterness, "Aren't you such a princess?"

Rin looked highly affronted, much to Len's unusual pleasure. "P-princess? I'll have you know —"

"Please don't take everything into account, my Lady," Len said, giving her a smile that silenced her. What a miracle. He twirled his bowler hat absentmindedly and added, taking advantage of the Lady's struggles to find an insult, "It's just my term of endearment."

Even though it may be a flattering remark to many, it was absolutely nothing — _nothing _— to Rin. "I don't want to waste my entire day playing your games, thief."

That was when Len put in act the comeback he's been practising lately, "On the contrary, you're quite a girl to spend an entire day with: It'd be an honour to spend a lonely thief's day with a lovely Lady."

Rin scowled, like, even scarier than usual. "Do you want to get this job or not, peasant?"

"Well, considering I need the job as much as you need another servant, I guess we're on the same page, then." Len didn't give a sign of any effort at most when he grabbed the chair nearest him and turned it around so he could lay his chin on the backrest, watching as the Lady's frown turned into a sort of threatening look.

"I'm serious, you pauper," she snapped, narrowing her eyes. "And I can hire anyone I like, and kick out anyone who's as irritating as a fly."

Len flinched, but didn't say anything to retort.

"Now," Rin said, her tone disguising annoyance, "I'd like to know your name."

Len figured this might happen: Except for her way of asking his name. _Normally_, it was "what's your name?" or "who're you?" or even "it's nice to meet you! I'm Bob, and you are?" But _no,_ it was "I'd like to know your name." Oddly enough, it struck Len as an insult.

"Len." He stood, his expression showing stern determination. "You can call me Len, my Lady."

Rin felt a string of pain shoot across her head mentally, and she started to see colourful clouds shielding her vision: Dizzy, she managed to control herself from passing out but it didn't come unnoticed by the boy.

"I am sure you aren't informed of the name of the Lady of Langley?"

It just occurred to Len that he didn't even get her name yesterday, and now he felt kind of stupid for showing up.

"No, Ma'am." It was better to tell the truth, because no lie can proceed without lying again.

"Arianna Dianne Victoria Mary Langley," Rin said with no hesitation. It was voiced out clear, straight and formal. The boy looked like he was having trouble trying to decide what to call her. "It's Rin."

"Ah." 'Rin' sounded like a very good diminutive for someone whose name seemed longer than what the said person can even remember. That shall be easy enough.

Lady Rin. . . It felt so _good_ in Len's mind.

"Now, back to business," the Lady said, clearing her throat loudly so that Len will snap out of his thoughts. "If you want to be my servant, you have to show me what you've got."

That remark hid a second meaning, and Len knew more than to argue or make a comment: Last night was absolutely . . . _creepy_. And weird. And unusual. He didn't want either of them discussing it again.

"Have you any criminal records?" Rin honestly didn't know what to ask this boy, it being her first time trying to hire someone. She was initially going to hire him right at the spot, feeling so reckless and in need of adventure; but she had to look professional. She entwined her fingers together and rested her elbows on her lap, sneering.

Now it was Len's turn to smirk. He folded his arms rather loftily and said, sighing, "If I'd ever been caught, I'd have been put to death a long time ago."

Rin clapped her hands and said in a cheerful manner that didn't suit her personality, "Great! You're hired!"

"E-excuse me?"

Len always thought his charms can enchant anybody, but he used it all up on this girl right here, and her personality _immediately_ changes. So he just stood there, his mouth agape, looking like a puffer fish. The Mistress was giggling uncontrollably and was fanning her face with an expensive-looking fan she got from God knows where for the last few seconds.

The sight before him was absolutely, well, indeed extraordinary. He'd heard from rumours that the Lady never shows a sign of delight ever since her father's death, no matter how many have tried entertaining her. So . . . how was he any different? Last night as well, when he tripped over . . . she _laughed._

"You have filled the requirements for the ideal servant," the Lady said, her blue orbs glittering with mischief. "I can sense it in you: You don't lie."

Len smiled sheepishly as he said, "I've heard you've participated in many famous investigations that shouldn't normally involve girls your age."

Rin shot him a glare and stood, grinding her teeth. "Ex_cuse_ me! How dare you? Is this a sign of significance you're displaying?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm simply playing with you." Len heaved a sigh, putting on his bowler hat. Then, turning around, he added, "You can sense what I'm feeling yet you can't get my jokes."

He heard footsteps and he immediately wheeled around, instinctively ducking when he saw a glob of an object flying ballistic at him — "You _pig_!"

Len adjusted his tie and gulped when he saw the Lady looking rather dishevelled herself; her ribbon was slightly tilted, and the main hole of her dress hid the left part of her neck's nape, although slightly revealing her right shoulder blade. There was something crumpled in her hand, and Len guessed it was his first task.

"Aren't you going to give me that?" Len pointed at the paper. Rin scoffed.

"This is a test to see if you truly are a phantom thief," she said, folding her arms. The boy didn't move. "What now, Pauper?"

It was her first mistake to blink: In a flash, she saw Len's blond hair beside her, and gasped when she realised that the paper she was holding was gone.

Rin felt Len's hot breath tickle her neck. "What now, my Mistress?"

For now, the Lady can't supress a smirk. She's fallen into her own servant's trap. How ironic. "Be sure to get here. _Early_."

Len strode across the room and hid the paper from sight, smirking as he exited the room. "I'll be sure."

And when Rin heard the unmistakable sound of a door shutting close at the end of the hall, she sighed heavily and plopped down the couch, tired. Today was eventful, that's for sure. Besides, she was supposed to eat breakfast by now. That boy . . . Len, was it? He looked like the kind who was always screwing up. But there was something about him. . . Rin didn't know what, but he was a very odd boy.

They were to meet again later, anyway, so she was going to observe him more then.

**ME:**_** Thanks for reading o_O As you can see, I'm starting a long story for the Phantom Thieves Peter and Jenny, since it deserves more love! So, obviously, the setting's 1888, London, because I want to make it give off a certain Kuroshitsuji aura: And you can painfully see that Rin acts a lot like Ciel in this one, too. I'm still gonna finish my two other stories, though. But don't fret readers! The great Nicole can type a story like a storm!**_

_**Oh, by the way, if one of you guys is a resident in London itself, can you give me some information about the place? Pretty please? Pretty-weety-eety pwease? (Okay, that was gross.) Reviews are very much appreciated, thanks, and I give virtual orange ice cream and banana split! ^~^ Can you please explain to me how this lordship junk works too? Thanks! Oh, and my birthday's a week away, so I'll be fourteen soon :D Rin and Len forever, fans!**_


	2. C2: The first task

**The Mistress**

March 14th 1888

It was night-time. The street of Regent Circus was dark: The lampposts don't usually give off a good light at night, and only the moon gave off light at that part of London. Shadows were resurfacing from their hosts, and it made the night twice as much darker.

At that time of night, Londoners were to go to bed, lock their doors, close their windows and keep off the street. Regent Circus was known for its burglary and at the same time its citizens' lack of materials. Stealing was against the law, obviously, but it was becoming a lifestyle day by day.

The moonlight struck inanimate objects and gave off their shadows, although there was this one shadow that was different from the rest. This shadow was _moving_.

Len sneakily crept up against a pillar and breathed easy. The Lady specifically told him to get there _early_, but he simply just can't. He was a master of the shadows, and knew well when to pry at night: Everyone would be asleep. Though, he had to admit, there must be a reason why his Mistress told him to get there early. She wasn't one to make mistakes easily, after all.

He snuck out of Regent Circus and found himself at the streets of London, his cloak fluttering behind him.

The paper made sense, in a way, because it was one of the little he ever _could_ read: He wasn't educated, and he didn't ever want to be. He already had his way of living, and, lately, he already had a job. Len knew her Mistress was cruel and inconsiderate, but there was this side to her that he found strangely . . . gentle —

"MY CAT HAS THE POWER~!"

Len stopped moving and quickly hid behind the nearest wall, holding his breath. He silently cursed himself for giving in to his own thoughts that deeply. He had heard some footsteps — they got louder. . . And, slowly they subsided into silence. Len gasped and clutched his heart, sighing with relief.

He checked if the drunks were truly gone, and pressed his frame against the building, seeking rendezvous in its shadows, and disappeared from sight as he sneaked down the street, his destination pinpointed at the mansion at the end of the block.

Moonlight was striking through the shadows, and Len was visible in the open, his silhouette clearly seen in the night.

As he raced in the darkness, he tried to remember what the paper, which was burned to ashes to not arise suspicion not a few minutes ago, said, occasionally jumping and sneaking while he did.

Len passed by some several cats already, and had been reminded of what life was like in the past. . .

He mentally slapped himself for getting himself distracted.

…

Rin Kagamine was waiting impatiently at the terrace of her room, wearing a ridiculously short sky-dark gown that reached her mid-thighs. She was wearing a scowl, irritated. She shouldn't have had such high expectations on that boy. She should've known, that rat. The thick sheet of sky that covered the city decorated the night so nicely: It could have been impossible for someone to not enjoy the night.

The wind was calm, and it whispered in hushed breaths, the night breeze sweeping by softly, letting Rin's dress flap a bit. It calmed her nerves a bit — a _bit _— but that didn't change the fact that her new servant is late, and on the first night of the job as well. Nonetheless, she can't just fire him: She really needed what she wanted. Besides, no one could fit the job as much as this commoner can. What he has . . . it's unheard of.

The Lady's left eye twitched when she heard her grandfather clock chime a low bell twelve times: He's supposed to be here already.

And then, as if on cue, Rin heard a soft tapping noise behind her: She turned her heel and saw a figure kneeling down in front of her, his cape fluttering behind him. His blond hair shone golden in the moonlight, messy as usual, and he didn't even bother trying to fix it again. His head was bowed down elegantly, and, whether or not the Lady was right, he did so out of loyalty and politeness, in her opinion; He didn't seem to be the type to avoid anyone's eyes. His back was heaving up and down, as though he was tired: He snuck in the night, after all.

Len never failed to amaze his Mistress.

"Would it _kill_ you to come early for once?" Rin whispered in a high-pitched tone. She stomped her foot, and Len didn't move one bit.

"I'm afraid that won't do, my Lady." Len stood, his figure being illuminated dimly in the light. "The locals don't shut the stores completely until at this time, Ma'am. I don't want to cause any suspicion. They might get . . . curious."

The Mistress made a noise that sounded like a cross between a tongue clicking and a scoff, and fell silent, trying to come up with more reasons why she's so mad at the older boy. But they were wasting time already.

"Okay, okay — there's something I want you to do for me," said Rin, rubbing her temples. "But mind you, you won't go unpunished for being late this time — _again _— unless it'll do us any good."

Fact was, when was being late ever doing any good? Len bit back a comment and nodded, sighing. "Anything for my Mistress."

There was another loud bonging from the inside, and Rin felt a little bit intrigued. He really was very late: She felt like such an idiot for actually _believing_ he might actually get there early. Len looked behind his shoulder to where his Mistress was gazing at.

"Don't just stand there. You have to get out!"

Len didn't react as much as Rin expected: On the contrary, he turned his gaze slowly to lock his eyes with hers and he had a dull expression on his face. "You still haven't given me any information."

"What else should I have to tell you?" inquired Rin, confused as ever. Len folded his arms and replied, "Where should I start?"

"I thought you read the paper." Rin thought he knew more about reading than she thought he should, but this was ridiculous.

"I did, but it didn't contain any places on where I should steal," Len said, more puzzled than his Mistress was. Rin slapped her forehead. "You decide! I thought you knew the streets more than anyone could."

"Y-yeah, but . . . I thought you were going to be more specific," mumbled Len, his voice getting quieter with each word.

"Okay, fine, I'll help," said Rin, exasperated. This boy was really _something_. She grabbed Len's right shoulder and pulled him over to the terrace's railings — ignoring his exclamations — and pointed at London proper, where the lights glowed dimmest. "See that building over there? That's London's most famous museum."

"You mean the British Museum?" gasped Len. The Lady nodded, her grip on his shoulder tightening: She was fixed on the building, her eyes shining with a dreamy glow. "There's this exclusive day where they put up the most precious jewel in display. And that's _today_. I want you to _sneak_ inside and get me the diamond I want, before _daylight_, or else it's long gone."

She let him go, and the boy staggered clumsily. He was adjusting his tie when he realised there was a speck of dirt in his cloak, and he patted the dirt. Len looked behind his shoulder and took Rin's expression as a sign that he should go now.

Len whipped his cloak with a fluttering noise and appeared at the far corner of the terrace, crouched down low.

"I don't want you to get caught now."

The words escaped Rin's lips before she caught them. Len paused trying to lift his right foot to get over the railings. Okay, right now Rin _knew_ he was smirking.

"Anything for my Mistress."

And with that, he whipped his long black cloak and disappeared into the shadows, leaving no trace of his presence except for the lone evidence of Rin's irritation.

…

Only the guards were left in the museum when the sun sets. And they hardly ever do their jobs. Len's first task must be easier than expected now. But he shouldn't have to keep his hopes up; he didn't want to let his guard down one bit.

The museum entrance was huge: There were Corinthian pillars that stood almost as tall as a house itself. Only the gates seemed to be Len's only option: There obviously weren't any windows in a museum. Nor a chimney. This might have been the only time Len ever doubted his prestigious skill in sneaking in without being detected, but then again, where would he be without his talent?

The moon was already high up in the dark sky, and as far as he knew, his shadows could be seen. Standing there in the dark behind a wall in the alleyway was his temporary stakeout: But sooner or later someone might notice him there. He had to think of a backup plan in case anything bad happens.

Eye bags almost completely covered the eyes of the guards, and Len was certain the skin was so thick they can't see, especially in this dim light. Feeling slightly reckless, he whipped his cloak — a habit he'd gotten used to over the years — and was swallowed in the darkness, completely invisible. Inch by inch, he crawled over to the gate entrance, hiding whenever he felt a sudden movement in the air a distance away.

There was one moment when the guard had turned to look at Len's way, and he had to stop moving to avoid being detected in the blackness: Inside his head, he was filled with a rushing panic that splashed all over him. What was he supposed to do _now_? He was now locking eyes with the big, beefy guard, who was staring straight at his direction with such an expression. And he really means _such_ an expression. Len didn't want to close his eyes or blink, because he was very scared that the guard would notice the absence of his glowing cerulean eyes. Shaking, he shifted in his awkward position on the ground against the pillar slowly.

When the guard shook his head and turned around, Len sighed inwardly and his body eased. He waited for the guard's footsteps to fade before he made sure it was safe to enter the place behind his back. He turned his heel and snuck his way to the front gates, panting as he did.

The gates may have been huge; but the need to unlock it was only one key, and Len — being the sly feline he is — had managed to 'find' one that 'looks' exactly 'like' it. Len smirked as he spun the key around his finger and inserted it in the lock. There was a soft _click_ that resonated from the friction of the key and the hole, and, at once, the gates were unlocked. Sneering, Len slipped inside, not bothered at all to leave the key where it was. He'll want a little action now, won't he?

The inside was absolutely _medieval. _Spears, swords, bolos and katana decorated the entire walls: Hung up so high, they were probably put there to avoid people from stealing them and using them inside the museum. The floor was shiny and clean: Despite the lack of light — or if there wasn't any light at all — Len could still see his reflection gawking back at him.

The wide, open space was enough for a crowd to barge right in, Len noted: He looked up and saw a long cloth pinned to the ceiling that read, "COME ONE, COME ALL!" It was probably for the diamond held on display just this morning. Other than that, Len doubted it was still in the glass case, but he had to try.

As he took one step, the noise resonated in the museum, creating sound waves that bounced against the walls. It really was a silent night: Len took his time observing the glass cases that contained various species of rare and exotic butterflies, the paintings that hung on the walls, and the chandeliers above the ceiling. He'd never been able to get inside a museum before in all his criminal life, but he'd heard it was full of interesting artefacts.

The museum was quite large, he must say, but Rinny's house was much, _much_ larger. Len could easily get lost, but he had this thief's sixth sense, so he'd know. He entered the second room, and the threshold had two potted plants sitting at either side. It shouldn't need a Sherlock to guess that this was the dinosaur's exhibit, judging by the ridiculously big skeleton.

There were halls that lead to other rooms — 'Paintings from around the world,' 'Shakespeare,' 'Queens of the History' — and although Len was apprehensive about stealing Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, he had a job to do. His Mistress mightn't like a portrait of someone other than herself. There was one hall that was labelled, '15 per head' and, next to that, 'Aladdin's Cave.' It was a lame name, but Len could immediately tell he found what he came here for. Smirking, he strode over the way, but there was a sudden beam of light that shot right across him — a few centimetres to his right, to be exact — and he stopped dead.

He heard footsteps. Len mentally groaned. How should he forget that there was an _inspector_ roaming around at night? In a museum, no less. Inside, his panic was exploding at all sides, and he felt himself sweating: He could blow his cover!

"Who's there?"

Judging by the deep voice, he's obviously bigger than him. However, Len was smarter: He whipped his black cloak and the darkness consumed him.

Kyle Shaun yawned, and he stretched his arms. What a night! It's been a while since the museum held a precious artefact in display, hasn't it? Kyle was specifically told to guard the museum this night, being so large and intimidating. Although he can't walk a foot without wearing a smile on his face. His flashlight in one hand and that police-club-thing on the other, he entered the Dinosaur's Exhibit. He can't wait for his shift to be over; he still had a lot to celebrate. And with celebration there's always a need for ice cream, right?

He stopped, his eyes catching something move: It was a shadow. Panic and fear washed over Kyle; _what the hell just happened?_ In all the months he's worked, he never actually _had_ a thief in the museum. And it just _had_ to happen _today_. He gulped and, thinking he might lose his job, bellowed, "Who's there?"

Smooth move. He can't just expect _someone_ to reply. He marched inside, his boots squeaking on the floor. He held his flashlight and it illuminated the gigantic skeleton: He flinched. He _seriously_ hated that display. It gave him the creeps. . .

"Jesus, I thought it might've been something else," he muttered to himself. Then, shuffling his feet, he walked to the Paintings Exhibit to continue his work, whistling.

Unbeknownst to him, a certain figure sneered behind a certain Homo Habilis skeleton. Len was so brilliant for thinking of hiding behind it. He made sure that the guard was completely gone before disappearing into the shadows again and slipping inside Aladdin's Cave — AKA the Diamond Exhibit.

He was glad that when he entered, there wasn't a single trace of security or guard in there. Just a wide space of room: There was a chandelier above the room whose gems twinkled in the moonlight; several glass cases held precious gems for display, all of which reflected the dim beam of the moon; the room itself was gold; although the room held so much rich items, there was only one that caught Len's eye, and it was labelled, as Len could see from the distance, 'The Genie's Eye.'

Len licked his lips hungrily: There it was, what he came here for. Alas, it was for his Lady, and he must follow what he was ordered to do.

He carefully made his way to the glass case, careful of his weight on the delicate floor — he may never know the traps set for thieves — and sighed in relief as he pressed his face against the cold glass that separated him from the diamond. . .

…

Sunlight blinded Rin as she woke: It hasn't been this sunny ever since. She stirred in the bed, groaning: She still didn't want to wake up. Ugh, she felt like she only slept through an hour. Groggily, she slowly opened her eyes to meet a good morning for once, but was greeted by a large cloud of colours.

"Ah!"

Rin didn't know the sunlight could be _that_ blinding: She gasped in pain as her vision blurred with colours.

"M-my Lady!"

At once, Rin already knew who this was. Such _insolence!_

Rubbing her eyes, she found herself looking straight at a pair of cerulean eyes that seemed to be glowing in the dark . . . before a beam of light hit her eyes again.

"I'm blind!"

"Gee, it's just a flashlight!" Len turned the flashlight off, biting his lip.

"Get off my bed _now_, you useless idiot!" Rin screeched, pulling up her blankets to her nose. She did this action so hard Len literally fell off the bed sheets and landed on the floor with a loud _thud_. She glanced at the clock: It has been over an _hour_ since she sent her servant to do the job. So she was right about sleeping for that long. It wasn't even morning yet.

Hell, it was nowhere _near_ morning.

The blonde on the floor grunted, massaging his head at the impact. He looked really worn-out: Had he stolen the jewel already? Was he just here to apologise and abort the mission? His hair was a complete mess, however. Like usual.

"What do you think you're doing here?" asked Rin, her voice rising with curiosity. The boy only gave her a nod for an answer.

"I'm not allowed to visit a friend?" Len stood up from the floor, stretching. Pestering Rin seemed to be the only thing this boy knows to do.

"You know what I mean!" Rin said. She pointed at her clock and glared at Len. "Look at the time!"

"What, I'm late again?"

"On the contrary, you're too early!" Such a nuisance. What annoyed her more was the fact that he was smirking. That smirk: Rin's blood boiled. He was tormenting her. Len's lips curled again, and this time he looked as though the last he said was his final shot at humour. He gave a bow and presented a blinding object in front of his Mistress.

"Argh, I thought I told you to stop _flashing_ that light —"

"It's not the flashlight."

Rin pushed Len's hand out of the way, making an irritated noise that was cross between a groan and a yelp. He had a stony expression with mild surprise. "Then _what_?"

"I think you're disregarding my answer to your previous question, Ma'am," Len pointed out, sighing. Rin's left eye twitched. He bowed again and put his hands on her shoulders so she could calm down: The Lady absentmindedly found herself sitting down at his gentle touch. She squatted on her bed, obeying his silent command like a sick kitten.

But her anger was igniting bit by bit. "What're you implying, Peasant?"

Len's grip on her shoulders slackened, and his hands fell to his hips. Rin felt goose bumps erupt down her neck when his eyes locked with hers. She almost didn't catch the sight of his hand disappearing as it dug inside his pockets.

The Lady's eyes widened when Len pulled out the precious gem from his pocket.

He held it up with his left hand, letting it reflect the moonlight: It was a breath-taking sight. What seemed incredulous to Rin was that it was _hers_.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**ME:**_** This might be the shortest chapter I've ever written. Ever. And the most boring. SO! Len succeeds in his first job! . . . or does he? Muwahahaha! Thanks for reading! Lemme explain the whole synopsis of this chapter: Len gets 5 stars for doing this job right :D And I'll be adding a li'l mystery to this. You know, to spice this story up ;) Like in Kuroshitsuji! So Rin's the queen's 'watchdog' or something, like Ciel in Kuroshitsuji. And Len's like Sebastian . . . or something. I don't like story parodies of Kuroshitsuji yet I'm doing one T_T Such a hypocrite. Okay, I wasn't sure WHEN flash lights were invented, so let's just pretend they already WERE in here, please?**_

_**Emanon: Thanks! I don't know HOW to fix that, exactly o_O I'm sorry. I love you for reading this! I'm known to be the author who gives away virtual cakes to reviewers! So, here ya go! :D**_

_**Vampire of Staffs: :') You deserve a slice of cake. . . You think this is interesting? Oh GOD, I wanna HUG you! XD Can I? Please?**_


	3. C3: A Gunshot

**The Mistress**

March 15th 1888

"That's a most beautiful jewel you have, Milady," Meredith mused, giggling at the crystal on the top of the chandelier, right where the 'L' crest was. Rin had specifically ordered Len to climb up the walls to attach the thing right at the spot, and he succeeded — with much difficulty, Rin might add. It reflected the light of the sun, and could just be seen by anyone under the dining table: You just had to squint, though, to avoid getting blind.

"Yes it is, isn't it?" said Rin, mildly bored. She sliced her orange cake and stabbed her fork before shoving it in her mouth. The morning was much too warm to her liking, and the windows' curtains couldn't even shield enough of the sunlight that shone through the glass.

"I didn't notice it there before, actually. . ." One of the maids naively whispered — though the room was so quiet, everybody there could hear the statement. Rin paused, her fork halfway to her mouth because her hand stopped moving. She disregarded a sudden thought and replied hotly, "It's always been there. You've been looking at it at the wrong angle."

"O-of course, my Mistress!" she exclaimed suddenly, dropping her silver platter. She bent down to pick it up and continued talking, "I was merely pointing out that I —"

"Yes, yes, we've all heard that excuse." Rin attempted her very _best_ annoyed voice, and it kind of passed off as one. She wiped her face with a napkin and placed her knife and fork at the plate, the clattering of the utensils echoing throughout the room. She stood, and turned her heel.

"Where are you attending to, Mistress Rin?" one of her constantly name-forgotten butlers asked, jogging to her side. Rin thought for a moment while walking at a slow pace to the hall.

"I want to go out," she replied casually: She rarely ever _does_ go out, and whenever she does, it's always to do the queen's bidding. Her father once worked for the queen exclusively, actually, and worked on cases and deaths of the citizens of their part of London. Now that he was _gone_, he left Rin for the job. There were actually a lot of exclusive jobs for other important people who serve the queen: For example, the old Viscount from the West End worked as a spy for England's shipping services to and from other countries. And, of course, nobles marry other nobles, and Rin has been engaged to this man's son, who had long since run away and wasn't seen again. Not like she minded, though. That boy must be one of those stereotypes.

"Go out where, exactly, Madam?"

Rin paused at the doorway, biting her lip. "Prepare a carriage for me, Darwin. We're going to Regent Circus."

…

The bakery across the street seemed to be a good idea for breakfast. Len messed up his hair, yawning and stretching his arms. He could easily snatch a loaf or two. Hell, he can even steal a gourmet meal. But he had to keep a low profile. He may never know.

Besides, he was quite starving, and last night didn't help anything. He groaned and buried his face in his hands at the memory. His Mistress made him put that diamond up that chandelier at her fancy, _sophisticated_ dining room, and now he can picture in his mind's eye the Lady nibbling a sponge cake along with the other delicious meals on her table that she still left untouched, eating under the magnificent chandelier where a Jewel _he_ stole rests; piecing together this thought and his situation right now, he should admit that his job might have been more trouble than it's worth.

Len got up from 'his' mattress and took off his socks. He usually sleeps with them on, actually, because the nights are recently getting cold.

Why did he search for a job again? Oh that's right: He was _hoping_ that his employer would at _least_ give him some food. And at most a place to stay. But _no_, he wanted a challenge. It seemed all right with him, though, as much as he wanted to be mad with it. Strangely, he found no reason to be mad with Rin Kagamine.

Len and her talked about when he was going to take a day off or something last night, and they discussed and debated over and over about whether he was _never_ going to take a break or whether he was going to work once a month. They settled that Len should take a day off twice a week — much to their displeasure and disappointment.

He didn't mind. He liked having someone to talk to constantly. Even if the words that came out of her mouth were mainly insults and snide comments about his hair. When he came and think about it, though, they seemed to have an awkward kind of relationship.

"Oh look!"

"A carriage!"

"Don't come near, Dear, it's _her_ again."

"Oh, hush, Colin! At least it's a noble!"

"Noble or not, she's got a nasty attitude."

Len could hear the loud chatters of his 'neighbours' at the end of the alley, and couldn't help but get curious. Must be something important. Or _someone_. He was still wearing a sort of formal pyjamas he 'borrowed' from that man from Whitechapel, and shrugged it off: They didn't even look like pyjamas, anyway.

He slipped his shoes on without wearing socks and sprinted to the street, where a crowd was gathering.

Several people blocked his entrance to see what was going on, and he cursed his short height.

"Excuse me!" he said, trying to get on a fat old man's back. "What's happening?"

A girl with brown, wavy hair turned to him and replied sadly, "Oh, you know, the usual. Whenever _she_ passes by, a huge crowd gathers to gawk at her jewellery."

Len raised a brow. "So it's a she?"

The girl rolled her eyes, watching as a dot of a passing carriage appeared at the other end of the street. "Yeah, where've you been for the last few years? She's always been like that."

Somehow, Len got the feeling he already knew who this girl was. Specifically, who this 'lady' was.

Horrified, Len just stood there in the middle of the boisterous crowd, watching as the carriage grew nearer and nearer. In closer inspection, it was a royal coach, white and gold with a driver to boot. The driver was wearing a tuxedo: He carried the prided air of the company of someone seemingly important, and even in posture he looked too snobby for someone who only gets to whip horses. Len bit his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that even the driver's _moustache_ looked fancy.

Len put aside his anger for Rin's driver when he saw the man step from his pedestal and on the street. He opened the door of the wagon and a socked foot stepped on the ground.

Out came a young petite girl who looked slightly short for her age, probably due to the lack of going outdoors; speaking of which, her pale face seemed to literally glow in the fresh sunlight. She had short blond hair that reflected the sun's golden shine and stunning aquamarine eyes that trapped Len in a trance. Her dress was that much too frilly, and she wore several jewelleries that made the people and passers-by stare and jealous. The dress reached her ankles to only reveal an extremely expensive-looking pair of doll shoes. Despite of her appearance, her expression showed exactly the opposite of cuteness and weakness all the same: Her eyes were squinted, and her eyebrows nearly met, scanning the crowd for something. Her lips formed a childish pout, but it came to everyone else as intimidatingly spoiled.

"I am here for an investigation, as usual. For those of you who don't know, I am the heir of the house of Langley, now known as Kagamine, and everything I do I follow by the order of the queen." Her voice was clear and powerful. Everyone who hadn't been listening had stopped doing what they did. She was at the very peak of her influence. "Anyhow, has anyone seen a blonde boy with blue eyes?"

Len shrunk. No. Not now. God, _please_ not now.

The crowd began bringing in random boys around Len's age, and they all looked _far_ from his appearance: Some were fat, some skinny, and one even had a kind of skin problem with acne or something.

"P-please! Whoever you're looking for, we're not him, I swear!" one of the idiots said, raising a hand to swear. Rin pointed at him and called out, "This one's not even close to the boy I described!"

Somehow, from behind, someone pushed Len into the clearing and he almost bumped into Rin herself.

Surprised but delighted — in the _inside_ — to see Len in front of her finally, she said almost carefully — _almost — _to him, "Get in the wagon."

As much as Len wanted to melt right at the spot, he obeyed after bowing his head. Getting in the carriage seemed to be harder than he thought, what with that many people staring after him, a few shaking their heads and clicking their tongues.

The inside looked really cosy, but he didn't have time to marvel at how red the seats were because as soon as he stepped in the driver pushed him inside: He hit his head on the arm of the seat and he seethed in pain, rubbing his sore head.

No sooner than that, Rin entered, closing the door behind her. She looked sort of distressed for someone who was supposed to be calm at all times. Len continued to stare at her on the floor as the coach began to move.

Suddenly, her eyes darted to him hiding the most regretful of expressions. "What're you doing on the floor? Get up."

"Why'd you get me?" Len asked, more out of interest than curiosity. He was still on the floor, and sat there cross-legged. He could see that his Mistress was flushing, but tried to hide it.

"I'm afraid we've been discovered," she whispered, looking out the window. Confused, Len scrutinised her: She indeed looked helpless. "The . . . police force has come to the manor early this morning just to directly speak with me. The commanding officer, Reginald Wellington, asked if I could handle the case instead."

More confused than ever, Len said, "What're you trying to say?"

Sighing, frustrated, Rin turned to look at him, and Len choked back a gasp; her eyes were brimming with tears. "This morning, the jewel was found missing. I knew it was bound to happen, anyway, but I didn't know the police would look help from _me_. . . S-serv — I mean, Len, I ask for your assistance."

. . .

Really? _Really_? What, no sorry? No "I've been such an idiot?" No "please help?" No nothing?

Len frowned and folded his arms stubbornly. "I don't think I have any reason to help you —"

"I _didn't_ say 'help' —"

"Assistance, help, potato, potatah — and I don't think the trouble's worth it." Len paused, staring straight into her eyes, both of which she tried so hard to stop tears from flowing. "But I don't think I see any reason _not_ to help you."

Taken aback at the slight sensitivity Len has given her, she said, almost trying to start a conversation — _almost — _"What makes you think I'm worth getting in prison for?"

"Well," Len shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. In truth he didn't actually _know_ why he wanted to help her. The carriage ride turned bumpier. "You may be a bit demanding, but deep inside, you're still a dependent eleven-year-old girl —"

"I'm _thirteen _—"

"Whatever. And I'm honour-bound to help you," Len finished, giving her half a smile. Rin had that boorish, dull expression on her face back, and Len almost wished she had an _actual_ face of emotion again.

"You said you'd be willing to give me everything I want," she said, half-suspicious. Then her face turned serious when she said this, putting her hands on Len's lap so suddenly that it made him hit his head on the door again, "I want you to tell them I'm innocent!"

Len had to admit, he was extremely amazing at lies, deceits and secrets. It was a little talent he picked up from the streets, and, of course, it became his hobby. However, he didn't think anyone could see through him.

"So, you only want me to lie?" he said, trying to make it clear to himself. Rin nodded, closing her eyes. "Okay. Fine." Then, remembering that he was supposed to act like a slave, he stood up and bowed, "Anything for my Mistress."

Sitting down, Rin looked out the window, more to avoid Len's eye than to look at the scenery, and murmured, "That's more like it."

Len shook his head and sat on the seat next to his Mistress, leaning against the rest.

The wagon must have hit a rock, because they were thrown forward so suddenly: Len gave out a loud cry, while Rin squeaked. There were cries of horses as they whinnied and noises of foot stomping; there was a rough, manly voice that exceeded all this in outrage who Len had guessed belonged to the coach driver.

Len rubbed his head. "Was that a magnitude?"

Rin ripped her frilly headband-hat-thing and exclaimed shrilly, "No, I don't think that was an earthquake."

Her hair was a mess: Len could hardly recognise her. He kept this comment to himself and bit his tongue. His head was splitting up — there must have been a collision with another coach or something. If not, then why did the carriage suddenly stop?

Rin pulled her leg up and stood up, grumbling something under her breath. She furiously opened the door of the wagon with such strength which Len was surprised she had. He flinched when he heard Rin's voice outside and was feeling very fortunate that it wasn't him she was shouting at for once.

"What in God's name made you _stop_?"

Len, curious as he was, stepped outside and was greeted with a strong wave of heat: It was very warm out. But when you think about it, it was almost the end of the season.

He found Rin with her hands on her hips, standing in front of the coach driver, who was practically cowering. Inwardly, Len smirked.

"What's the meaning of this?" Rin screeched, glaring daggers at the man. Len couldn't find anything wrong, actually, with the horses: They just looked as confused as ever, eyes hiding behind the straps. What made the driver stop the coach, then?

"M-Ma'am," the driver began, stuttering, "there was this cloaked man in the way, and I told him to get out of the way, but he couldn't —"

"I don't _see_ a cloaked man right now," Rin said, narrowing her eyes. That wasn't saying much at all, seeing as she didn't even survey the area anyway, Len bit his tongue from saying aloud. She held her nose high and walked to the front of the wagon, eyes as eagle-like as ever. She didn't look as though she was trying to prove a point anymore: Her face showed more scepticism than indignance or a demanding demeanour.

Len didn't want to interrupt, so he just stood by, stiff as a statue. What was he going to do? He thought they were going to her manor, and now something's happened, and it looks like they were going to be a little late. He definitely _doubted_ his Mistress would wave this off like it was nothing. Oh well, it's nothing a strapping, clever young man like him couldn't fix.

Rin took a few steps backwards, bobbing her head, more likely because she was too vain to squat down and check the carriage's lower part. It took Len a split-second's notice to watch her expression change from suspicion to delighted surprise. She hastily bent down to inspect whatever she found and gave a loud gasp of shock at the closer view. The driver made a movement to go over, but Len just pushed that man aside — not hiding his brute force — and strode over to his Lady's side, crouching down.

The Lady, upon cheek contact — accident or not, she didn't _want_ to know — shoved her hand into Len's face and jerked him a bit to the right. She reached out her hand and carefully wiped the speck of dirt on the carriage's bump's surface which Len didn't notice was there until now.

"What's that?" Len asked, standing up straight. Rin slowly slipped her glove off her hand, the one she used to examine the dirt with. She held up her glove in the sunlight and scowled.

"It looks like . . . some kind of white substance," Rin whispered, more to herself than to them.

At that exact moment, a gunshot was heard not too far away: Their heads turned to look around.

"What was _that_?"

Rin stood up, gritting her teeth and folding her glove inside-out questionably. Len took a few steps backward just so she could stand up properly.

"Gentlemen," she said, hiding a ghost of a smirk, "I think Inspector Wellington will have to wait."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**ME: **_**Thanks for reading! And, to make it ABSOLUTELY CLEAR, Kyle Thomas isn't an OC. He's a Vocaloid, and a very famous one; I just played with the name :D That's all I can say. He's gonna play a major part in the story progress. I thought the details in last chapter made it quite obvious . Oh, and about Len's and Rin's personalities . . . I FAIL at merging Ciel's and Sebastian's with their own . That was embarrassing. Oh well -_- Nobody's perfect. My only excuse is that Len's actually this sly, cunning, strapping, cute, adorable, smexy — you get the picture — young guy, but he can be his exact opposite when Rin's around. He doesn't have a problem with other girls, though XD He's absolutely the perfect characteristic for thieves. Rin, on the other hand, is strict, dull, boorish, unkind, slightly dainty — you get THAT picture — and spoiled. That's what I got from merging her with Ciel Phantomhive's character. But I based her other personality on herself XD She can be fun when she wants to be, but it's too bad she NEVER wants to be =_= Oh, and as you can see, I meddled with their ages. Len's slightly older than Rin by a several months. His birthday is actually earlier than hers, which is still December the 27**__**th**__**, which makes him the older one, the situation being early in the year **__** Oh, and which song would you like me to base Len's second task on? I'm thinking it should be Phantom of the Opera, don't you? ;P Okay, there's one other thing Mistress Rin likes, and it's solving mysteries! Like Ciel Phantomhive, see?**_

**REPLIES TO REVIEWS**

_**XSimply-SimpleX: Len's just like that whenever Rin's around **__** You deserve a slice of cake! Thanks a lot for reviewing! ^~^**_

_**JCAF: No. That's too . . . unrealistic o_O I'm sticking with true-to-life situations **__** Thanks for reviewing and reading! Here's a slice of cake!**_


	4. C4: Len's first mystery - Part 1

**The Mistress**

March 15th 1888

Rin turned to the driver and said, her nose held high, "I want this carriage fixed by the time I get back, Mills."

"What?" Len watched as Rin walked past him, avoiding his eye.

The Lady pulled up her dress slightly above ankle-length and rushed into the bushes. Len, awed and surprised, stood there, and absentmindedly called after her, "M-Milady!"

The fact was, she was already gone: The rustling of the leaves that accompanied her vanishing footsteps were gone as well. She was just so adamant; itching for the scent of blood and the trail that lead to a mystery. Len had only heard rumours about it, but never actually believed that the vain, spoiled young mistress loved the thrills death cases gave, and the alluring crimes to be encoded. He already knew she worked for the queen, but didn't think she loves to do detective work.

Does she even _know_ where it'll lead her?

Len groaned and ran after her, shouting, "My Mistress!"

He jumped over a bush and entered the dense, tree-covered woods. He had trouble trying to step out of the thicket, what with the trees' roots in the way — but he was particularly not going to let a _girl_ win to him. Especially when he's two years her senior. _Especially_ when he's the one with the experience. Len could see Rin in the distance: She seemed to have taken a break running, seeing as she stopped moving. And stuff. As much as Len wasn't sure, he was really curious as to why she reacted so fast.

"L-Lady Rin!" He caught up to her finally, catching his breath. He doubled over, panting, next to his Mistress. "What made you run away like that?"

Rin flipped her hair and turned to him, glaring. "You don't know anything at all, do you, Commoner?"

Len wanted to shake his head a no, but he really wanted to know, too, so he just slowly nodded. He wasn't working for her for nothing, which is true enough. Rin handed Len a handkerchief, much to his surprise and confusion.

"What'm I supposed to do with this?" he asked, holding up the silk cloth that was embroidered with golden writings at the sides, and of course let's not forget the decorative letter 'L' at the end.

Rin waved an airy hand and resumed walking into the deeper part of the woods, "I can feel a bead of sweat rolling down my neck. Would you care to get it for me?"

Oh, of _course_. That was completely logical and realistic enough. Len sighed exasperatedly, the handkerchief delicately held by his hand, following her suit. "I didn't ask if I could be of any help to you, I asked, what made you run like that, Rin?"

The Lady stopped walking and turned her heel to face him dead on. Len felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he received the deadly glare Rin gave him.

"First of all, Mister Len, it's a business I would not like to discuss with someone like you. Secondly, it's 'Milady' or 'my Mistress' at all times, have you understood all that?" Her tone was spitting venom. Len could have sworn his ears were bleeding.

"Ah, geez, okay, you don't need to get so worked up about it — Milady," he added hastily. Rin's eyebrows dug lower than Len thought possible and she turned around, her hair smacking Len's face in the process.

He rubbed his nose and, between his fingers, saw Rin running into the deeper part of the woods, bushes rustling after her. Len was very determined to get back at that girl, but was afraid he'd lose his job and much more else. He gnashed his teeth together and swore under his breath before going out to catch up with his Lady.

He just asked what the matter was: The gunshot seemed to be pretty dangerous. They should've called for the police, like a normal person would. But from what Len heard, Rin was far from normal. She was a rational girl who wanted to take everything into action and does things her way to get it her way. She wanted to investigate the gunshot, and wanted to find out what the white stuff was.

Len researched about every boss he had before he applied for a job, yet it didn't get him as far as actually working for _two_ days.

It took Len a while to realise that Rin was already a great distance away from what he could keep up with, and he guessed that by the time he gets there, Rin'll be gone: He imagined a few scenarios wherein, as Len speaks, Rin would walk in the murder, and has been snatched away by the suspect, leaving the corpse of the victim.

He shook his head: He had better hurry. It's all going to be his fault. . . His fault. Rin went to Regent Circus just to pick him up, and on the way back home, they witnessed a gunshot from afar, and now she's _gone_.

Managing to find his voice again, more out of worry and anger than out of courage, Len shouted, head frantically turning to every direction possible while he ran, "Milady! Mistress! Are you still there?"

He found a clearing ahead, so he launched himself forward, half-guessing it was where Rin could have taken a break. He was blasted with a warm sunlight and a strong streak of light that blinded him before he tackled something soft.

"Ah!"

Len rubbed his head, seething in pain. He had fallen to the ground headfirst: He thought he hit something. It was a while before he caught the acrid scent of blood. He immediately stood up tall and covered his nose, waving his other free hand in the hopes that the smell won't get in through the gaps between his fingers. Finally, he found the source of the unpleasant odour and he regretfully gasped, inhaling the scent itself: There, on the ground in front of him, was a _figure_ drenched in his own blood; his hair was matted, and Len found apparent scars and bruises all over the man. He was sprawled on the grass in a spread-eagled position.

Disgusted as Len was, he checked the man's eyes: They revealed nothing but whiteness.

"You tripped over the corpse, idiot." Len turned around to find Rin behind him, staring at the dead body on the ground. "From what I could gather, the suspect fled just after he shot the victim, knowing if he'll linger he'll cause a ruckus. I guess he's been chased here: They must've been from the city itself, because this would be the nearest place where no one would stay . . . for long."

"This man. . ." Len began, biting his lip, "I think the suspect has targeted him for quite a while now, why else could he have chased him all the way here to kill him at the woods nearest the city?"

Rin nodded slowly, her eyes showing understanding. "Correct."

Len looked at Rin. "What're we gonna do now?"

The Lady shook her head and took out a few plastic bags of questionable stuff. "We're going to Scotland Yard to report this. I've already collected all the evidence needed, anyway."

She approached him with a serious face and took out the handkerchief she gave him earlier, much to his surprise.

"Well, not _all_ the evidence yet, I'm afraid." Rin clicked her tongue and bent down low enough to examine the man. She took out the hankie and slightly disgustedly wiped the man's blood on the face. "I want you to stay and guard this man's corpse until I get back with the police."

"A-as you wish, Ma'am. . . But what's the blood for?" Len asked, his heart starting to heave him down. Rin didn't answer and stood up, leaving.

Baffled, Len watched her as she went away again — what, was this the second time she left him with no answer? Len pushed this thought aside and decided he could find out later, anyway. She couldn't hide her secrets as much as this, right? He thought as he sat down on the grass, waiting. Surely nothing will happen to him if he would just guard this dead man's body.

…

Rin put the clips to hold her hair back as they kept swinging in front of her eyes. She looked at her coach driver and said firmly, "I want to go to Whitehall Place to report something to the constabularies."

Mills looked rather shocked. "What was the gunshot about, Madam?"

As Rin got on the pedestal she answered without looking at him, "The killer apparently stalked or hunted down for the victim for a while before getting close enough to kill him. The killer's gone now, obviously, and I'm going to the police to confirm something. I know they're useless enough to not do anything about it, anyway."

The horses whinnied at the contact of the whip Mills had whipped on their behinds. The driver winced at the noise, but nonetheless whipped them again to get them moving.

With the door of the carriage closed by Rin finally, they turned to the direction opposite them and went on their way back to London.

Everything could be seen through the window of the carriage, yet Rin seldom put the curtains aside. This was one of those times when she'd taker her time and look at the outside world. They were still riding through the trail of the woods, for she was certain that the cloaked man that passed by the carriage had been the killer. Who else could it be? He must be nearby as well. . . Rin's eyes squinted at the harsh sunlight, looking out the window to see if there was a shadow moving in the trees. She tried to think about the things that went through in her mind the moment she saw the dead man's body. . . It was all disgust. What was that white powder for, anyway? What method did the predator do to kill his prey?

"I see you're still the secretive type, Miss Arianna." Mills's voice was inaudible but could be heard from inside the coach. Rin didn't say anything yet, pursing her lips guiltily. "You've long since trusted a person. You confide in yourself most of the time now. Can't you see others are reaching out to you? There are times when I'd see you flashing that ghost of your old smile, but you supress it."

Her eyes were brimming with tears as she said, "I know. It's just that . . . I can do things by myself."

Rin thought she heard Mills sigh from the other end and she shook her head, trying to be strong for herself.

"Whatever you say, Milady."

…

4 Whitehall Place was as ghostly as ever: No one dared to come near that estate. Except maybe for those who sought help from the Metropolitan Police. Even at the lightest of day, its eerie atmosphere could change even the weather of the place: There was a thick fog that surrounded the buildings, concealing the stares of the residents as the carriage passed them by.

God, this place was awful, Rin thought, pulling on a face of disgust as she shut the curtains close. When was the last time she sought assistance from these buffoons? Oh yeah, _this was the first time_. With her nose scrunched, the Lady tried to recall the events that took place a few weeks before. Let's see; she tried to put up signs to find someone to give her everything she wants. Then the queen told her to handle a case that Scotland Yard passed on to her. It was a rather risky one: A serial murder case in which the suspect's victims actually don't share a similarity at all. Was it simply a madman running wild?

Then again, there can't be a single madman whose mind was as brilliant as this one; his strikes can't be random. Rin still believed that there would be _some_ kind of connection between the victims. They were targeted one by one, after all. She still can't figure out what, though. They were both genders, and they had absolutely no relations to the suspect's past at all. The suspect could be anyone: That girl who just ran across the street. The woman who sold cupcakes from the bakery. That young lad who gave away newspapers. The biggest question of all was, did the suspect really have a motive to kill the victims? If he did, then what?

Rin could tell that the cloaked man had been the murderer: Only Mills could have seen his face. Right? Groaning, Rin buried her face in her hands. This was all too confusing. And frustrating. There was just something wrong about it. . . The cloaked man passed them by _before_ the gunshot was heard.

The horses outside whinnied, and Rin gathered all her strength to continue what she came there for. She was going to come out, anyway, but she wished she could stay inside longer to think on things: She absolutely did _not_ want to see that Wellington's ugly face. Or, for that matter, his impossible _spy_.

The Mistress sighed as she primed her hair for a while before she stood up — and at that exact moment, a knock was heard from her carriage door.

"Aren't you going to come out, Rinnykins?"

_Oh. My. God._

Speak of the devil —

The door opened to reveal a robust young man, although slightly shorter for his age, with short, messy black hair that stuck on end at the tips. His eyes were the only clean thing about him, as far as Rin could tell now: They were a sparkly pair of hazel, shaped like almonds. He was wearing a set of peasant clothes — cap and loose bowtie and all. He reminded Rin a lot of Len, with the exception of his chin being significantly pointed, and he had the distinct air of being well cared for, an attribute which the blonde rat conspicuously lacked. His socks were soaked, apparently, judging by the anomalous colour, and it was no mystery solving where he lived and what he was. Shoes too rattily holed; face full of greasy dirt; pants that were badly patched and hardly fitted him . . . there was absolutely no doubt that this boy, no older than 2 years than Rin herself, was from the streets just like Len.

With the misty smog around the boy, it was hard to tell whether he was an apparition or the real thing. The place was so foggy, you can barely see the feet of the person, even at the brightest of day. Right now, Rin was particularly annoyed by the boy's smirk.

"Going somewhere, Rinny?" he asked, pushing back his bangs. Giving the boy a disgusted glare, Rin folded her arms and crossed her legs.

"I'm here to handle a case, Hayes," she replied, glaring at the older boy. "And I had to resort to the worst of inspectors. Is your boss around here somewhere?"

Connor Hayes waved an airy hand and smiled genuinely this time. "Well, good luck with that, Rinny. I don't think he's given me an assignment ever since you behaved in front of him, so I haven't seen him in a while. Hey, I didn't see you since you threw a fit at Wellington and hit him in the —"

"Yes, yes, I get that," Rin said hastily, her temper reaching its peak. She got down the carriage and scanned the area. It was very filthy in these parts. The mud puddles on the street reeked like roasted rubber. Her shoes were even from Milan, and yet. . . Pushing that thought aside, she turned to Connor, determined to get back to the scene her pitiful thief was at, unfortunately. "Can you get Wellington for me? Like, right now?"

The raven-haired boy massaged his chin, thinking. "Are you gonna talk about that stolen diamond case?" Rin's eyes widened horrifyingly, and she thought she was going to get caught. "Because Wellington's gotten real ballistic over it! No clues anywhere!"

Quite relieved, the Lady shook her head. "I'll get to that stolen diamond case later. Right now, there's something more worrying than that."

Connor leaned in to hear more, because Rin's voice was getting more and more inaudible. She told him everything about the crime scene, the gunshot, and the cloaked man. It didn't make any sense to her, but it probably will with more brains. After she finished, Connor stood straight, his eyebrows furrowing indicating that he was thinking deeply. "So that's what you're up all about?"

Rin nodded. "Yes."

Shrugging, the boy turned to the building at the far end of the street. "I think the Inspector's still busy. But it won't hurt to present him the evidences, anyway."

Even though Rin didn't entirely trust this boy, she was still up for solving this. She was so used to keeping everything to herself that she didn't tell anything to anyone anymore, maybe except the cases she solved.

It must have been a while already since she left the crime scene. An image of Len being interrogated by the police about setting the forest on fire appeared in her mind, and she fought the odd urge to laugh. That boy was certainly clumsy, although she doubted he'd set the forest on fire before she got back. If that boy did _anything_ all the while she was gone. . .

Rin sighed and said to Connor, "Let's get to Wellington as fast as we can."

…

Len was getting really tired of just waiting. Where on earth could that girl be, anyway? And why did she care so much? He was impatiently sitting on the dewy grass — the sun clearly not fully evaporating the dews from a few nights earlier — and could care less about watching over the stupid carcass. He didn't think the strong scent of blood could overpower him, but it did: To think that, of all he's been through, a stinking smell would kill the almighty master thief, Len. However his integrity had been downgraded to the 'servant' category ever since he's worked for Rin. As Len could recall, the moustached driver claimed that there was this cloaked man in the way before the carriage stopped.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end suddenly; had there been a breeze that blew by? No, that was simply Len's sixth sense tingling. There was something wrong with the idea, actually.

Relaying the events in his head, the hooded man passed by the carriage, leaving the white dusty evidence on the bump of the carriage, and _then_ there was a gunshot.

_Then . . . who the hell _is_ the killer_?

Obviously, the one with the gun . . . right? Maybe that hooded figure was just a hooded figure after all. Maybe he was a witness; that he'd seen the murderer and the victim running in the woods and got scared. Maybe. But that doesn't explain why he was wearing a cloak.

Determined to find more evidence, Len stood up and scooted near the dead man, who smelled like hell, by the way. Was he going to smell this way when he'll get in the coffin? Len didn't want to dwell in that space of thought anymore, so he pinched his nose to keep himself from getting distracted.

So far, Len couldn't recognise the man as anyone he's seen before or known. The man had sandy-blond hair that was greying at the ends, and he was balding, his hair pushed way back his forehead. Blood, marks and bruises everywhere: And there was even a gunshot. What? Where was the sense in that? Did the murderer beat this person up before he killed him with a gun or something?

Something seemed very funny there.

Of all the blood-covered parts of the man's torso, Len still couldn't find where the man was shot. He tried to think positive and searched below: His legs were clean. Not a single speck of blood touched his pants; except maybe for the upper part, where the man had most likely been beaten up. This got Len in such a confusion — what was the gun for, then?

Had there been someone, then, who was spying in the bushes? Maybe the spy was the one with the gun. The spy would most likely have seen the killer beating this man up, and signalled for the passers-by to come . . . after the criminal escaped? What?

Frustrated with the mystery, Len stood up, grunting. He patted the dirt on his pants and walked around to find some more clues. He sort of liked the feeling of the wet grass brushing against his black shoes' leather. It seemed to be so relaxing, considering all the stuff he's been through these past days. You know, being accepted as a thief, getting a job in a mansion — sorta — meeting a Lady, stealing a precious diamond, seeing a dead man. . . It's been tough. That's kind of a lot for a boy who used to be nicking stuff from peoples' pockets.

And then he stepped on something. Something soft. And it was sort of squishy.

Len furrowed his brows at no one in particular, listening to the awkward sounds the thing he stepped on was making. It felt soft, but it was making _breaking_ noises. It couldn't possibly be a stick or a tree branch either.

Curious, Len lifted his foot and bent down to closely examine it. He reached out to grab it and realised it was covered with a thick red liquid, its scent being inhaled by his nostrils. Upon closer inspection, it was short, soft and sort of . . . fleshy. . .

Len let out a strangled gasp as he dropped the object on the ground again, aghast with fear and shock — he might never recover from touching it, the vile touch making him lose his own sanity as he remembered how it felt when he held it in his fingers, the blood entering his nose. . . He felt a sort of stinging sensation course through his body — it was a traumatising feeling and a new sense of terror: He never was bothered with blood and wounds, but he couldn't get over the fact that he actually _held_ a finger that was _amputated_ in his fingers, fresh with blood.

He didn't know whose finger it belonged to until he stared at the inanimate object he realised one thing.

The killer didn't use the gun to kill this man. Instead, he used it to shoot this man's thumb.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**ME: **_**HAPPY HALLOWEEN, GUYSSSSS! X3 This is one of the best holidays of the YEAR! So I dedicated this chapter as a treat for the season. Yeah, so, I based this chapter on Fear Garden, except it's fingers, not hands or arms. That was the only song that genuinely creeped me out, so . . . yeah O.o I can't imagine the girl who sang 'I like you, I love you' sing Fear Garden. That's too awkward -_- The OC here, Connor Hayes, was made by none other than the loyal reviewer, XSimply-SimpleX! Cheers to that person! :D Helped me a lot. Please help me spread this story all over the Internet, everyone! Advertise it, tell it, ANYTHING! XD Okay, PLEASE tell me whether Rin or Len's out of character again. I'm getting confused myself, actually . If you don't understand, I'll give you EVERYTHING in the next chapter about the murder, mm'kay? :D I don't like giving anything away, but I'd hate it much more if someone didn't understand what I was writing about D: I'm truly torn! Should I give you a hint? Nah, it'll destroy the meaning of the story T-T Happy Halloween, everyone!**_

_**XSimply-SimpleX: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! :D Thank you for everything! You gave me an idea! Thank you! As a reward, I'll be giving you a WHOLE CAKE! XD If you can't finish eating it, share, okay? **____** I hope Len wasn't too clumsy here. I just think it's too adorable for him to be so clumsy XD**_

_**Mitchkat1: Oh my God o.O You don't know how much your review means to me! QvQ I read EVERY ONE of your stories, and I idolised you ever since! It's an HONOUR to have you read this. . . (CRIES) Thank you for reading! Please accept this slice of cake made with love! :D**_

_**XXXDreamingFlowerXXX: Thank you! X3 For everything, actually T-T You followed me ever since my first story. And now . . . (CRIES) Sorry, I feel just so emotional right now. I'm really sorry Q.Q It's so embarrassing to cry. . . . Thanks for reviewing! :D Have a slice of cake!**_


	5. C4: Len's first mystery - Part 2

**The Mistress**

March 15th 1888

Time passed by as Len continued to stare at the forbidding object at the ground, horrified. Can he take it? Yes. Although the fact that he actually _held_ it in his fingers remained. Was he about to throw up the meal he worked so hard to steal that he digested? Maybe. Does Rin know this information? Probably not. But he'd know if she did or didn't, you can just see it in her eyes. She most likely checked the body herself before Len bumped into it. She was an extremely sharp person, it'd almost be impossible if she'd miss something. So was that what the blood she collected was for? Obviously.

Has Rin figured this all out already? That, Len wasn't sure of right now. The girl may be sharp, but could she have seen the thumb? Did she spot the missing extremity of the man?

Whether it was true or not, it was absolutely _impossible_ to kill someone just by amputating his — or her — finger. He'd highly doubt that. Judging by where the thumb was dislocated from, he'd say that it was definitely shot by a gun. The other end of the thumb was shaped like a half of a bullet.

In his opinion, it was all about beating this man up, Len thought, standing up and scowling to himself, gazing at the man's last expression, and then shooting his thumb.

There was a man in a cloak who passed by just before the gunshot. Maybe. . .

Were there possibly _two_ men after the victim? There was a high chance that could be it. It could easily have been a competition to kill the man; the one most likely with the cloak beat this man up in order to kill him, and the one with the gun was the one who followed, shooting this man . . . on the finger? Could that be it?

Staring at the poor corpse, Len had the feeling that he was about to find out. Find out the _wrong_ way.

…

There was a rustling in the bushes: Although the blonde in the distance couldn't have heard it. A pair of bright, green eyes stared through the thicket, scowling. How could she have been so foolish as to do a stunt like that?

There had been a murderer after the man, no doubt. . . She'd known it for a while now. But she kept quiet. Why did she even keep quiet? Honestly, she didn't even know herself.

This boy had been keeping watch over the victim, and that's the sole reason why she didn't escape yet. Why? Why did she want to escape?

Her head ached; but she grunted in hushed tones, very aware that the blonde might hear her would she make the slightest noise. Why couldn't she just jump out of the bushes? She didn't even know what she was doing. . .

What was happening to her? Not knowing what was right and what was wrong anymore wasn't her. What she should do, what she _shouldn't_. She _should_ be helping the blond girl and the blond boy, but something inside her took over and she was as stiff as a rock. Her mind told her that it wasn't _ideal_ for her to do that. She was supposed to keep herself alive.

But was she on the side of the truth? Or on what was ideal and right for her?

The girl hiding in the bushes looked at her hands: Her left was holding a gun, and her right was bloody. Oh, they'd _definitely_ _not_ mistake her for a suspect. Which was perfectly and undeniably true, though.

She didn't even realise she'd done those things consciously. . . What happened to her? She didn't know.

She didn't know anything.

In her frustration to find out the truth, she made her escape — the blonde in the clearing wheeled around to see what caused the scampering noise before catching a glimpse of auburn hair a distance away in the coppice.

…

There were absolutely many ways to hate Wellington. You want to know one? His attitude.

The Lady could remember when he 'accidentally' split coffee on her most expensive dress before.

Even though she got even with the old man, she still hates him. Why? (Granted, that 'getting even' plan cost her a _lot_.) Well, if you hate someone, would you continue getting even with them until you think they had enough? My point exactly.

"What in God's holy name made you near this place?"

Rin inwardly swore, rolling her eyes — his loud voice. "_What_ is your problem, you old cow? You even called a _spy_ for me!"

Connor bit his lip and played with the hem of his shirt, looking as though he was very interested in the clean floor of the Inspector's office.

Can't I rest _one_ week without having to see your ugly face?"

The man with the moustache in front of her scowled — oh, wait. He's got a freakin' monobrow. He crouched down a bit and leaned in so that his greasy nose was just centimetres away from hers — that sounded _weird _— and he said, his hairy lip quivering, "I don't like your attitude, young lady."

"That's funny," Rin spat, which made the man stand up straight again. "I couldn't remember my own _parents_ calling me that."

Wellington growled and put aside all his gentleman-ity and snarled darkly, "You don't _have_ any parents, child!"

"_Sir!_"

The two arguers looked at the only source the exclamation could have come from, and they saw Connor at the threshold, ears as red as wine itself. He looked really ticked off. After all, the Inspector's last statement hit him like a bullet. Connor himself didn't have any parents either.

Rather dishevelled, Rin looked up — glaring, may the authoress add — at Reginald Wellington with a dead serious look on her face.

"We're in here to discuss something, Welli — _Inspector_," Rin hastily added the word — odiously — "I wouldn't come here for any other reason."

Although she still wanted to argue a bit more regarding his stinking face, she couldn't: Not when the blond peasant was still guarding the corpse.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to put the diamond case on the hold — _Sir_," Rin said, nodding importantly. She took out the evidences she collected in the crime scene before Wellington opened his mouth to answer — and by this time the old codger was gaping at the odd objects the young girl had placed upon the table carelessly — and continued talking breathlessly, opening up for the first time about a case, "On the way home to my household we passed by the woods leading there and a cloaked man crossed the road, causing us to come to a short stop. My driver checked if the man hit anything on the carriage, and I went out to see what the commotion was.

"I had an — ah — _acquaintance _with me at the time, so he followed me out." Rin was careful to choose the right words so she would make the ambiguous lie believable. The inspector eyed her in the most disgusting way possible — not like _that_, folks — and he made a gesture to Connor to sit down at the stool next to him by the door, but the boy didn't budge. _Stubborn as ever_. Rin turned her attention back to the man and went on, "Listen to this, _Mister_ Wellington: We heard a gunshot in the woods soon after."

…

Len darted after the figure, scowling.

He thought he heard someone in the bushes, and he was right: The dead man's body was far too vulnerable out in the open, so how could the suspect just _leave_ it there with no one to guard it? Len left the victim's body where it was, because nobody would dare go near it, he reckoned.

Naturally, he was a very fast runner, and keeping up with that person — whoever that was — would be absolutely no problem for him. His feet sprung from the ground like a frog as he ran after the figure.

There was a bush up ahead and he nearly tripped over but managed to pass it off as a slight stagger before he sped up again. Picking up the pace, one thought ran in his mind wildly: Could that person have the revolver that shot the victim? If so, then why did he — or she — Len thought that least likely, but it was safe to assume so anyway — run from his sight? Also, it was the sound of soft running, which indicated that the killer may be a small person . . . or even a child.

Could it be likely that there was a mastermind behind all this, too? It could be. . . Len had a theory that there can be two people behind this killing, and he was after the weaker one. He wondered whether Rin was already hot on the track for the mastermind. The blonde was silently praying, though, that the lady won't be mad at him for leaving the corpse unattended. Although he had some opinions about the uselessness of guarding an already dead man in the remote woods where the only people in there were already, in Len's case, chasing after themselves or, in the suspect's case, running away from each other, he decided to keep it to himself since he _felt_ like the Lady would find a loophole through that no matter what.

Sweat was trickling down his cheek as the chase heated up; the suspect _must_ be small to be fast. The light footsteps could already be heard, and Len felt his heart race. Was he already that close? He didn't think he was running at his fastest, though; and, even, he was wearing shoes unfit for such activities. See? The facts come together in one puzzle, and maybe his theory of the suspect being a child was almost proved correct.

Feeling slightly high, Len said, keeping his voice calm and threatening at the same time, his eyes darting from left to right, "I know you're out there. We don't need to play this little game. We already know who's lost."

As expected, there was an outbreak of nervous panting in the midst of the bushes rustlings resounding in the forest, and Len finally found a speck of pinkish colour moving ahead, swaying back and forth. Bingo.

The figure ahead didn't look so threatening at all: The closer Len got, the more he got the feeling he was wrong about suspecting the figure. Although he was _so_ sure. . . Upon closer inspection, the suspect was wearing a long thin dress that reached her — the suspect being _obviously _a girl — knees, and a white hat with a pink ribbon tied around the rim. Len slowed down and walked instead, seeing as the young girl in front of him had already collapsed to her knees, apparently giving up. Had he thought wrong or immoral about suspecting a child? A _girl_? A girl no older than his mistress herself?

Slowly, he felt his suspicion of the girl fade away when he heard the girl sob silently into her hands.

". . . never repeat what I told you. . . You're to gather information of this man. . . What's happening . . . ?"

Len felt Goosebumps erupt from the back of his neck and he stepped back carefully. The girl started to sob harder and her shoulders were shaking terribly: She began talking indistinctly, between sobs and hushed whispers alike, and that seriously freaked Len out. There was one word that Len made out, and the only reason why Len understood it was because she kept repeating it in what seemed to be every sentence; "_traitor_."

She had a thick accent, and occasionally Len heard her tones pitch up higher before they become deeper again.

When Len finally came to the conclusion that this girl was bonkers, the girl suddenly coughed loudly and gave one last shudder before falling face down on the forest floor.

Still horrified at what he saw, Len stood at the spot, shaken and creeped out, with his eyes wide with terror. What he just saw was . . . ?

Although something inside him was telling him to get out of there, Len approached the unconscious-ish girl with bravery and examined her.

He almost jumped when he saw a pool of white liquid coming from the girl's mouth: The girl was indeed pretty . . . had she shown the slightest trace of sanity, however. Her eyes were _wide_ open, like, more than a normal person's should when they're unconscious (or not, even.) The corners of her mouth were twitching, too, like she was forcing that insane smile stuck on her expression as the thick liquid dripped slowly from her lower lip. Her curly auburn hair looked wet with sweat and . . . something else. He also smelled a trace of blood and . . . something else. What was that familiar scent? It was nowhere near nostalgic to Len, if that's what you're thinking.

Taken aback, Len felt his heart heave him down: That was the freakiest thing he'd ever seen.

He still heard the slight mumbling of the girl and he very much regretted following her in the first place.

…

Rin didn't know how, or never even bothered to, but somehow they convinced Wellington to handle the case along with them. She was just glad that the old man came through.

Where were they now?

It's kind of a long story — skipping Wellington's complaints and Rin's eventual effective comebacks — but somewhere between the lines she managed to convince Wellington to rest the 'stolen diamond' case for now and investigate this one. Inwardly, the Lady was thankful that a situation such as this came in to interrupt, because she absolutely did _not_ want to go to prison. Who _does_, actually?

The three people were now sitting in comfort — or lack thereof — inside Rin's carriage, heading toward the crime scene. She was sitting right across the two men huddled up their seats in discomfort: Hayes was nervously fiddling with his collar, apparently disliking the lack of space; and of course who could forget Wellington, eyes squinted scrutinising Rin with his lopsided glasses and twitching moustache and all. Rin was just sitting straight looking pretty proud of herself, wearing that amused smile that made her look like she knew everything.

"So we have all gathered information regarding the incident," said Wellington suddenly, pursing his dry — hairy — lips. "There's a disappearance of a man named Mortimer Snow just this morning. His maid ran across the street to the station to report this. Apparently, Snow was gone overnight. He had a good job, a beautiful wife and a wonderful mansion. However, he has a horrible habit of staying late at night from working."

Wellington stared at the blonde. "What do you see in this?"

The tips of Rin's mouth escalated. "This case would be quite easy. I have theories though, and several questions I'd like to add up regarding your suspect." Rin massaged her chin, leaning forward a bit. "What makes you so sure he can be the cloaked man?"

It was the easiest question Rin could ask of Wellington in the situation, but it may be the question that would shoot Wellington's idea down.

"Because he once had a record, _Ma'am_, about child abuse," spat Wellington. Rin was delighted to see the look on Wellington's face, but was more interested in this man's history. "He and his wife had a child, and he filed cases on selling the baby: We don't know why, but we're pretty sure he doesn't want a child ruining his future, and he panicked. We didn't have _any_ evidence at all of him selling the baby, or him having a baby at all, so he wasn't arrested."

"It seems like we have a stowaway, Mister Wellington," Rin mused, smiling mischievously. "Do you think his habit of staying up late at night _'working'_ has a connection to this?" She raised her voice a bit to emphasise the word 'working.'

"I've been thinking the same thing, actually." Wellington said thoughtfully. "What on earth would he be doing at such late times? Killing people?"

"Oh, I highly doubt that. I don't think Mortimer Snow's the type of person to be running round killing random people every night." Rin's tone was very casual in spite of the fact that they were talking about murder: She made everything sound like a normal tea conversation. She raised a brow at an angry Wellington and pointed at Snow's documents of his previous actions. "Can I have a look at that?"

Wellington raised a suspicious brow, but he obliged, half-shoving the papers in front of her face. Feeling a little nice, Rin smirked at his violent reaction and seized the papers from his hands.

_Mortimer Robert Snow_

_Age: 43_

_Birth date: September 23, 1845_

_(Photo)_

_Accused of several misdeeds such as; __**abortion**__; __**child abuse**__; __**adultery**__. The said misdeeds have not been proved to this day, however we are putting this man under tight surveillance. He has been accused of __**child abuse**__ because __**all evidences point to him**__. The crimes he has been suspected to have done all have a connection, and they all seem to associate with __**child abuse**__, oddly enough. This strikes us as highly suspicious, although the public won't allow us to arrest this man, for we lack sufficient evidence. His accusations and suspicious actions continue to make us sceptical, and over the past __**fourteen years**__, we can't believe he's slipped from another crime once again. He is also known to be the friend of many mass murderers and drug dealers, so it is natural for him to be one himself, isn't it?_

After she finished reading, Rin furrowed her eyebrows. She raised her head to look at a waiting Connor and Wellington. "This is it?"

She could have sworn she'd seen a nerve explode at Wellington's forehead. "What, you need more, child?"

"As a matter of fact, I actually _do_," said Rin carelessly. "Let me ask you something, Mr. Wellington. What work does he actually _do_ nowadays?"

Looking more than a little surprised, Wellington replied, "He works at a garden shop now with his wife."

Connor suddenly piped up from the corner, "It's actually a bit strange, eh? Inspector here says that he usually works late. What'd he be doing in the _garden shop_ at midnight, I suppose?"

"A very good observation, Hayes," Rin mused, watching Connor flash her a grin. He had a good point: Then that must mean their number one suspect so far — and was probably the _only_ one they had, but meh — was Mortimer Snow.

The horses outside whinnied, and the coach stopped: She heard Mills's voice inaudible through the thick walls of the carriage inside, but didn't really catch what he had to say. She strained her ears to hear clearly, but by the time she finally understood a few words, Mills's mumbling came to a stop. The silence was unbearable: They were inside a forest where a murderer must be lurking in right now, hiding from them . . . or hunting for their blood. The very thought made Rin's breathing hitch: She didn't like this _one_ bit. Although the thrill made her go too excited to stop now. Connor, who sat at the left side of the carriage, was silent as hell. He looked seriously, well, _serious_: His eyes scrutinised every detail of the forest outside the window, as though he was sure there was someone staring at them. Wellington, on the other hand, looked outraged. He stood up like an idiot and exclaimed, "Are we already at the crime scene? Why're you all just glaring at nothing like that? We have to go, you incompetent children!"

Slightly losing her patience and feeling the tension of the newfound paranoia of a killer around, Rin hissed, ducking a bit, "Shut up, Wellington! You'd let the murderer hear!"

"I have a lot of cases to handle, Miss Kagamine, and the only reason why I wanted to handle this one was because my client was delayed a few hours." Wellington was _seriously_ stupid. Like, to the point of pissing everyone off. Rin's left eye twitched when Wellington marched to the door and flung it open, stepping on the forest floor in such a flamboyant fashion. The blood running in Rin's veins boiled.

She really, really, _really_ hated Wellington.

Rin felt Adrenaline rush and got out of the carriage herself, followed by Connor, who she saw at the corner of her eyes roll _his _eyes. The temperature was humid, and just being from Whitehall, Rin wasn't as used to such heat as she was earlier this morning. When she came and thought about it, waking up from bed in the morning seemed to be a long time away, didn't it? Now she's back to solving another murder case. Oh _joy_.

They were blasted with heat — or at least Rin thought _she_ was — as, in Rin's and Hayes's cases, they watched Wellington disappear in the thicket, apparently determined and impatient to investigate the crime scene.

Rin heaved a knowing sigh. Mills looked at her on his seat when she mumbled, "If we're not here in fifteen minutes you should call the police force."

And with that, she turned to Hayes, nodding, like they had a silent understanding, and went off to the woods as well.

…

"_Traitor_ . . . _choice . . . identity. . ._"

Those were the words Len had so far understood from the girl's indistinct mumbling. Fear was starting to build up inside him, and only a few more _umphs_, panic would take over and in not less than five seconds he'd be running out of there.

What was this girl talking about? In Len's own opinion, and based on all the evidence he gathered that led him to the hypothesis — such as the unpalatable odour, the foam from her mouth, and let's not forget her indistinct whispering — this girl might have been. . .

There was a sound of a branch that snapped, and Len sensed a rather chilling, and a barbaric presence from behind him: A shadow surfaced in front, casting down all what he could see of the girl in the daylight, and before Len could react, a deep, monotonous voice said behind him, completely toneless and all, "What would happen . . . if you did something you very much regret?"

He didn't want to look like an ignorant idiot, so Len just stayed there, one knee knelt on the ground, staring into the wide wild eyes of the unconscious girl, who gave him a blank gaze in return. He didn't recognise the voice to belong to anyone he thought he knew, however there was one thing clear in his mind: This voice belonged to someone who's known as a killer. A murderer. And Len could hear it all in his husky voice. Who else would be in the woods when it was such a beautiful day? (Plus, he caught the strong scent of blood, which he can't help smelling.)

Not moving, Len whispered, "Do you know this girl?"

There was a shuffling of feet behind him, and Len could swear that he'll _die._ But if the man wanted to kill him, he would've done it in the first place, right? Before he even talked.

"To be quite frank, no." The man wasn't hesitating in telling the truth at all. Or was Len just wrong about him being a killer? Maybe he was just someone who passed by; but even the town's butcher didn't reek this awful of blood. . . "She's just someone somebody I knew _knew_. If that made any sense, dear boy."

The girl's eyes were widening, as though she were still conscious: Like she was surprised. Len didn't want to miss that detail out. If she _was_ conscious — and her expressing silent surprise is a very strong sign — then that must mean she knew this man, judging by the look on her face.

"Came across her when I was supposed to be searching for a man, who was coincidentally connected to her. . ." The man's voice flowed like death itself. And as for Len, if he wanted to keep himself alive and kicking, then choosing the right dialogue for this conversation was his only hope. At least, until Rin will _somehow_ find him. He had to buy himself time. "The man I knew used to be my friend. . . But that's the thing, isn't it? He _used to be_. . ."

Goosebumps ran down Len's spine. Was he supposed to delve deeper into this? Apparently. It was his only _choice_, so yeah.

"Our big fallout was when we chased after the _same woman_. . ." He spat on the ground; Len felt his composure collapsing, but he managed. "We shouldn't've kept the friendship, but we couldn't live without each other, yet we detested each other; we were filled with _lies_. We both knew at the time that she was going to _choose_, and we both knew _who_."

With every word, his voice was starting to shake with what seemed to be rage. Len was alone in the forest with a crazy girl and a murderer under the _same_ tree. What a situation to be in.

"You're a suitable young man. . . Tall, dashing, bright. . . _Everything_ I _wasn't_."

The man coughed, like he was choking on his own words. Despite his statement _almost_ sounding gay, Len thought the man's talking would eventually end.

"But everything _he_ had been. . ."

Len finally gathered all his balls and turned around, gritting his teeth and somewhat preparing for a strike: In front of him now stood a tall madman, whose hair was drenched in blood and sweat. He had a pointed chin that somehow added the intimidation in his part, and tan skin that Len knew wasn't supposed to look . . . ugly on the man. (That sounded wrong, but whatever.) He looked around a head taller than Len, but not tall enough for his age; his wrinkles were apparent. His hair, not unlike the dead man's earlier, was greying; the two men could easily be distinguished as of the same age. Bloody were his khaki pants, worn out and frayed with patches of different colours. His shirt was all buttoned up, except for the one he left where his neckline was at to most likely keep himself comfortable, or it had gone loose when he beat the poor man to death. . . He wore a long, thin cloak of black with the hood down, and Len knew who this was already. The man stood, panting heavily, with exhaustion and showed every sign of conspicuous lack of sanity. His eyes were wide expressing the most fear Len had ever seen in his life, but his gruesome smile made Len flinch: He was a madman!

Head slightly tilted to one side and eyes clearly fixed upon the girl on the ground behind Len, he said, breath hitching with every word, eye twitching with every breath, "So, pretty boy . . . what do you reckon happened to this girl here?"

Len just couldn't think of anything else to say, "She's . . . demented?"

The man spit on the ground and sneered, licking his lips and showing off his not-exactly-pearly-not-even-near whites. "Lies! I could see it in your eyes! All _lies_!

Len made a quick movement, standing up, and moved backward, stepping over the girl. The madman killer rotated his head, stretching, and said, "I can hear it in your voice and how it trembles! _Lies_! LIES!"

Before Len could even register what was happening, the man reached out and grabbed his wrist; he felt like he was lunged forward and his vision went white for a fraction of a second before he felt something gooey on the tip of his finger.

"See? Smell that, smell it, boy!"

An atrocious odour filled Len's nostrils as he sharpened his eyesight: He saw his finger a few centimetres from his nose and a white substance at the tip that was supposed to be the source of the deadly smell.

A pair of crazy eyes stared at his and he did his best to avoid them, half-afraid he might go crazy as well. The smell was unfamiliar to him, and yet he already knew what it was. He reckoned the substance was extracted from the pool of liquid coming from the girl's mouth and reminded himself to wash his hands later. If there was a later.

"You know what it is?" the man whispered. Idiot, of course Len knew what it was. Quite enough of it, his eyebrow furrowed a bit, a habit he was accustomed to whenever he was pissed off. Without waiting for a reply — which was great, obviously, because Len didn't _want_ to give one — he let go of Len, but grabbed the unconscious girl from behind and turned her around so that Len could face her.

Her eyes were still blank in space, but Len could sense that, from the trembling, she was aware of everything around her. Horrified, Len reached out his hand to save her, but the man pulled her hair so that he would reveal the sharp-edged knife held close to her pale white neck.

The killer clicked his tongue dangerously, looking at the ground. Len froze, grunting.

"Dear, dear, young man. I think you're smart enough to remember where I last finished my story off, aren't you?"

When Len didn't answer, he continued. "We have been each other's best friend since we can't remember. . . Close as brothers, we were. . . We were bonded by deprivation; we shared our similarities. . . Except, we were different."

He stroked the long hair of the girl in such a way that disgusted Len, and hummed a song of odd tone. "Our responses to the same stresses had been diverging since we were young. I think friendship had too long blinded me to the growing differences between us. And . . ."

Len flinched when the man had come too close to the girl that his lips were already moistening the girl's right ear, much to the girl's revulsion; she gasped blindly. "And we'd been in love with the same woman.

"She . . . came to our lives when we turned of age. She was the most beautiful lady we'd ever seen. Long, brown hair with waves and curls that bounced in the sunlight. . . Healthy, white skin that was as soft as a rose. . . And her personality brightens anyone's atmosphere. We won her trust, you know. . . The three of us became inseparable." His voice was dripping with a strong sign of reminiscence — until his eyes glinted and he had that craziness back. "We began lying to each other around that time: Who did our hearts belong to? Who were we planning to spend our lives with? We were absolutely clueless. . . On the night I was about to proclaim my love to her, she showed up to me, all excited and giddy. . ."

He suddenly spat on the ground again, laughing like the maniac he was. Len just watched in disgust. "She showed it to me! She showed me the ring _he_ gave her! Haha!"

Silently, Len was praying that Rin would come sooner. . . What happened to the corpse, he wondered? Maybe they took so long. . . Or something. Hadn't Rin told him she'd gone to get reinforcements or something? It just occurred to him that all he'd ever done these past minutes was stall his life. This man was supposed to kill him, but he didn't. He wondered.

"Then he came up to me. . . My so-called friend. The man who was built up by lies of what I thought I knew of him. We'd gone our separate ways after their wedding: It was the last I'd seen of the traitor . . . and of my Olivia. . ."

The more absorbed the man was to the story, the less Len could care. He was barely even listening now. But he had to pay attention sometimes in case the psycho would ask him a question that _might_ be the turn to his death. He also had to save the girl.

"And it seemed like I was the only one who believed of the rumour." He caressed the girl's skin lovingly, in an odd way that struck Len as not paedophile-ish, but of fatherly. "He had impregnated my _Olivia_ with a baby girl — a rumour that only a few people believe but a scandal most people would look down upon. Except, he had been _so_ selfish: Can you believe that he sold his _own_ girl to a place of prostitutes?"

Gulping, Len glared at the man: This story was finally making sense now.

"They say that the baby looked _exactly_ like her mother. . ." The psycho ran a horrendously bony finger down the girl's trembling neck. Len made a movement again but the man raised the same finger. "Don't you think that this man has had _enough_ of lies? Don't you think that people deserve to know the truth? Don't you think _Olivia's_ daughter would want to take this traitor down?"

"Of course. . . I'd have to kill everyone who witnessed this, too. . ."

He raised his knife — everything happened so fast — Len pushed the man out of the way, grunting — the girl dropped to the ground with a loud thud — he had to prevent this from happening — everything of him hurt like hell — he heard a loud clink, followed by a hissing noise.

Landing on the forest floor face-down, Len gathered his strength and kicked the man to the ground. As the man fell down, Len seized the opportunity to skedaddle with the girl, but he stumbled to the ground when the man grabbed his ankle.

Len grunted, thrashing and kicking the man aside, "So you think that you could solve the problem by _killing _the man in the hands of his own daughter?"

The man's grip on his ankle tightened, and he clung on to it like it were a lifeline. He crept up to Len, rasping murderously, "Found her working in the place, being treated like scum! Should a child of Olivia be treated like that?"

Len wrenched his foot from his grasp and crawled on the ground backwards, growling, "Don't touch me with your filthy hands, vermin."

Letting out a loud rasping noise, the psycho rolled over and nicked his knife, which had dropped when Len knocked him down. Eyes bulged when he saw that the man was about to plunge the knife into the chest of the unconscious girl, Len shouted a loud "NO!" before he threw himself at him.

There was a flash of bright white light before he heard the gory noise of someone's blood being spilt, and the far and distant cry of, "There he is!"

...

Len's head hurt so bad. He couldn't lift his eyelids to see what was happening either. It took him a few seconds to gain his memory of what happened previously. Remembering everything in a jolt, his eyelids fluttered open and he sat up straight from his position, but found himself restrained.

He blinked again and again, but he couldn't see anything but blackness. Len's eyes were starting to water when he gave up; he concluded that he was indeed in a dark room. It was really warm in here. . . But there seemed to be a sort of cool air surrounding him.

Either way, Len was sure he was in a room. He shifted around in his place and just realised in surprise that he was sitting on a bed. In fact, when Len thought about it, it had been a long time since he'd slept in a room. . . He'd been living in the streets all his life he'd forgotten how it was like being in a house. . .

Where was he, anyway? And how did he get here? What happened to the poor girl?

Len slightly flinched when he heard something creak, and stayed perfectly still on his bed (or what he thinks that what he was sitting on was a bed.) Light filled the room and he had to blink to see everything perfectly.

He was in a very spacious room: He had to admit, he hadn't been inside a room for quite a long time, let alone slept in one on a nice bed. There was basically nothing there: Just a bed he was in now and a large painting at the corner of the room that depicted a very tall and good-looking blonde man standing on top of a large mountain of what seemed to be dead human bodies — a rather grotesque image Len was somewhat disturbed to look at — and a chandelier above him that was lit.

There was, of course, the open door, where a familiar boorish-looking person was at: In her nightgown and with her hair down, Len almost didn't recognise his Mistress, Rin Kagamine.

"Oh, you're up now, I see," Rin stated lamely, scrutinising her eyes. Len felt a sting on his head and he put his hand up to touch it, but judging by the look the Lady was giving him, she didn't want him doing anything. "You've been through a lot."

"W-what —"

"The suspect turned out to be the dead man's best friend," Rin said, sighing. She opened the door wide so that she could let herself in, but she was still standing next to the threshold. "As for the girl —"

"She was drugged."

Len gritted his teeth for saying that so suddenly. Rin eyed him like a predator would a prey, but continued talking nonetheless. "Yeah, she was. She was actually the victim's daughter. And we're off the hook; Scotland Yard won't investigate on the Diamond case for a long time."

A throbbing pain spread out in Len's head, and he felt like he was going to pass out again. He heard Rin heave a sigh.

"I think you've been stressed out too much." There wasn't any pity in Rin's voice when she said that, but at least she didn't sound sadistic. More like she was tired. "I'll tell you everything in the morning."

Len still felt like there was something missing. "B-but I need to —"

Rin silenced him with _one_ look. "Tomorrow, Len. You've enough to worry about."

She bit her lip when Len didn't say anything — she was probably so conscious right now** — **and she tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear before she turned out the lights and said, "I hope you don't get nightmares."

Then the door was shut. Len was alone in the darkness once again. Her presence seemed to emanate an atmosphere that was both somewhat dark, but comforting. In any case, Len was glad she was safe. That _he_ was safe.

He sighed as he laid his head on the pillow. Maybe he was thinking too hard. The case was closed already, but he felt like something was still missing. Besides, everything would be explained tomorrow. They'd just run into a problem, and that was that. . . He was just sucked into another one of Rin's death cases.

Len remembered reading in the newspaper that the heiress of Langley was a vicious and deadly person when it came to solving crimes. He was a little upset he didn't get to see Rin in action — and by action he meant talking non-stop about deathly stuff — and felt a little . . . left out.

Rin was going to explain everything in the morning, though. He can settle for now in this little loose end.

Those thoughts were swimming in his head for quite a while until he drifted off to sleep.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**ME: _Oh God, guys o.O I'm so sorry I haven't updated for a long time! DX What with the 2012 nonsense I became paranoid! D: Merry Christmas, everyone! I'm REALLY sorry for the loose end. It sounded a bit . . . rushed D: But the idea of the gunshot SUDDENLY appearing in the woods was already vague, so this is just another problem of the day D: Sorry, guys. Imma explaining the gunshot at the thumb on the next chapter. Merry Christmas, guys! XD_**

**_CookieAddiction: Well, seeing as you're the only one who reviewed, I'm giving you a MASSIVE virtual cake! Imagine it's full of sprinkles and marshmallows! :D Thanks for reviewing, anyway :D_**


	6. C6: Loose Ends

**The Mistress**

March 16th 1888

Len's morning was . . . awkward. Yeah, of course: What'd you expect? Yesterday he was just at the alley on his bed getting up from another night of cramp-filled noises with rain dripping from the roof of the house nearby. Now he was inside a house of someone who was close to a noble.

He couldn't imagine a more surprising morning. He got up from 'his' bed and clumsily stood straight: What happened when he blacked out yesterday? He reckoned Rin got there in time to get his arse from the scene and save everyone and solved the case, but he can't help but shake the feeling that something was missing. A loose end to this long thread of a murder.

His senses told him that he was somewhere in Rin's mansion: Although he'd gotten up last night, he didn't have enough time to see the room clearly enough to know what made it up, so he took his time surveying the room. He guessed Rin gave him a thumbs-up for his 'good work' yesterday, because this room was _big_; even bigger than the room she took him to the other day. In comparison, this room is gigantic. He only slept at the bed next to the door, but he didn't look that well enough to see that the 'wall' he'd thought he'd seen last night was actually a _divider_, a huge white one. He could just easily push it aside to reveal the other 9/10 of the room, but he didn't think he's supposed to do that yet, so he'll leave that for himself discover later. There was a bookshelf just in front of the foot of the bed, and the space between it and the bed was just enough for three carriages to pass through. The bookshelf seemed to have quite a lot of books; maybe Rin specifically put them all there — alphabetically — thinking Len would like them, but he didn't think she'd be as nice as that. Just as he assumed, there really _was_ a chandelier above him; it was hung on the ceiling. However, it looked like it was swaying so much Len thought there was an earthquake.

Len's theory was put to the test when he heard what seemed to be the noise of a stampede from outside the door. He glanced at the door, wondering whether or not he should make a run for it before the stampede gets there or stay inside. What he saw was the doorknob shaking like ballistic, and the door was rattling unpleasantly.

"Everybody, this way! This way! Mistress Rin has a _visitor_! We must see!"

Len, quite curious as to who this visitor was, carefully pressed his right ear to the door and listened: Was that a stampede of Rin's maids and butlers?

Heavy footsteps raced down the hall, and the heiress of the house's servants of Langley — now Kagamine — were squeezing down the mansion just to listen to the Lady's conversation with her new visitor; this was the second one this week, and they're all excited because, the connection between the visits was that they're all boys around her age. And nothing would be better in a nanny's or babysitter's life than to hear the latest gossip of the one they're serving; 'sides, Rin's almost coming of age, so it's natural for her to find a boyfriend, what with hormones raging around wild. Although that wasn't quite the case: Meredith deduced that Rin would know better than to just invite a guest. She was, to say the least, _boorish_, and was completely antisocial. She doesn't even talk to her servants unless she needed something. Sometimes Melissa wondered whether she really _was_ the only one in the household of servants who was educated well, she thought as Guinevere pushed some people out of the suffocating crowd down the long winding treads of the golden staircase.

"Get off, you idiots, this is the Lady's closest servant —"

"_Second-closest_," Meredith said sharply, half-gasping when one of the butlers from behind pushed around.

"Yeah, whatever — I just want these jerks to _move __**out OF THE WAY!**_" Guinevere shouted. A few of the Lady's servants looked her way in disgust and held their noses high, whereas the others just completely ignored her.

Meredith sighed; she wasn't used to being tossed around in the crowd like this, but she had to know what Rin was up to: Lately, she's been doing these things that were far rasher than the stuff she'd done before. It was really worrying; however, she _doubted_ Rin was the type to go chase after men, or takes pleasure in being chased. She deduced that the guest's visit was of business, even though the boy was barely an adult, being only a few years older than Rin herself. He was rather . . . good-looking, as they say. Perhaps the types who were sleek and smooth in talking to women, and — Meredith was probably making a mistake in judging so much, but she can't help but feel overprotective on Rin, who was still the optimistic, scatter-brained girl she used to know — looked really _poor_ for Rin's tastes. Not that Meredith wasn't poor herself, except that she knows who Rin likes and what kind of boy she's _most likely_ into.

Guinevere grunted and gave up to the mercy of the stampede of servants, occasionally bumping into one person or two. She was one of the maids who served Rin when she was younger, so she naturally witnessed Rin's childhood demeanour. She was this hard-headed, spunky maid. Many have been questionable about her green locks, but she just flipped her hair and says that she liked the 'style,' and that it naturally runs in her family. Her full name was Guinevere Minnie Mechteld, but she however preferred it to be abbreviated as 'Gumi,' because it sounded so much 'cooler' and less hard to pronounce. She didn't want anyone calling her the wrong name at all. She was by far the youngest recruit of maids ever, because she was found as a young orphan in the streets by Oliver Langley, and they decided to adopt her as a maid of the house to take care of their daughter. She was only a little older than Rin herself, so she can relate a lot. Except, in terms of experience and educated brains, Rin was that much more mature and had long surpassed the greenette, who used to be in the same level as her.

Finally, they made it to the last tier, and every single servant spread throughout the floor, hiding behind various furniture, just to listen to the Lady's and Hayes's conversation at the Living Room.

Meanwhile, we go back to the youthful peasant, Len, who's found himself vaguely apprehensive about the idea of being in another person's house, specifically, a _rich _person's house. _Even more than that_, his rich employer's house that he just snuck into over less than a week ago to ask for a job.

He had a queer hunch that Rin was by now awake, and he comprehended this newfound fear more than anything he's ever been frightened at before. Maybe it was because he didn't want to disappoint anyone? Something inside Len kept reminding him the realisation he was scared to soon forget: He was running out of time. He only had a few months' time, too.

And all he was doing was playing the Lady's pet. However, the streets and the occasional filching taught him that patience was a key factor to getting what you want. It was essential to look like a masochist and risk his life for this girl . . . for now. Then he can get his hands on his goal. It was all for a good cause. . . He was helping the Lady after all, right? No harm in that. She's nothing but his mistress. He just has to play puppet for a few months until he finishes what he's sworn to do for the meantime.

Len's thoughts swirled in his mind as he stood up from the floor, leaning against the door. Was he seriously starting to doubt his abilities now? Sure, his funny, stupid side was getting dominant over his usually devilish and sneaky one, but he was starting to delve into the deeper parts of his torn heart, wear his memories and past struck him most. He supposed there was no way to yarn his heart back together, although he wanted to at least make the person pay for what they did to him. Even though his brain had been far too young to recognise the face then, and he was far too old to remember any details now, he thought as much as his imagination could supply about the face of the dreaded monster. . .

Wondering whether it was the effect of the morning sickness he usually gets at sunbreak or it was the new unaccustomed habitat, Len succumbed to think more positively this day. He'd just recovered from the past case, right? The sooner he gets down, the sooner he'll find out what the hell happened yesterday. . . He crossed his fingers that it won't be so upsetting. The memory of the girl's sunken, mad face haunted Len to no end; to imagine such a face merry and full of unquestionable and innocent gaiety would be like trying to imagine the queen of England young. He wondered what became of the girl. And . . . the madman who was supposedly the girl's father's best friend . . . he lunged at Len, and Len was certain he heard a violent spill of blood. But since his memory was a bit fuzzy, he questioned himself whether or not he heard someone scream his name at all.

Was it Rin who screamed his name? Yes, it was. He put two in two together and theorised that she came to his rescue around the same time the madman knocked him out. He will _never_ underestimate that girl again.

. . . And he's been alone up there _how long_?

He'd better get down or he'd crack.

…

"You called for me, Rinny?"

Hayes earned a gigantic _swat_ from the Lady as she pursed her lips. "Shut up, Hayes! I called you for a reason."

Connor never felt like a star more than he did now: Even though Rinny dragged him to the most secluded room in the first floor of the mansion — which caused an even more scandalous uproar among the legion of servants — he was still certain there were a few irises peeking through the keyhole . . . Or in this case, the windows: The curtains were still up, of course, and Rin was having a hard time getting them down — mostly because she was too cough — _short _— cough to pull them down. The scene would have been _outrageously hilarious_ had Rin not been looking at him with that face.

Ugh. Her Medusa mode always gets to Connor.

"I brought the files you asked for, anyway," he said, sitting down the nearest couch. He set aside his bag and put the files on the coffee table. "They're _ancient_. I mean, who still _reads_ that piece of crap?"

"I do, and I appreciate your help." Rin strode over and snatched the papers from the table, then walked to the window, where the harsh bright light was to read the papers a little more thoroughly.

Connor wasn't really used to anything silk, so adjusting to his position on the couch took him a while. "We've just had word about the dead man. Apparently, _he_ was Mortimer Snow. I think the reason he's always late in coming home is because he knew someone was stalking him."

Normally, Rin will take a few seconds to reply, but she did almost automatically, despite reading files. "It says here that the madman who apparently killed him was Maddox Weild, his best friend."

"Former, apparently," muttered Connor, sinking in his seat. "I can't believe that he'd just kill his best friend like that. Even _criminals_ have friends, right?"

Which was probably the most childish thing Rin had ever heard from a fifteen-year-old like him — and we have to admit, Connor's the most immature boy we ever know, so he says a _motherload_ of childish things — and the vaguest wonderment, too: When she came and think about it, most criminals have back-ups, other members of the gang, and the occasional 'sidekick.' But in Snow's and Weild's case, it seemed like their relationship was far too questionable. Then again, Weild _is_ a madman. . . Out of love, too. Rin snorted.

"I can't believe this man. Sacrificing everything, even his sanity, for a _married _woman whom he knows will never love him back," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at the paper. She hated the very existence of ignorance: Who was this man to think, anyway, to kill the woman's husband, who in fact was also his best friend? There are a million other people exactly just like him; Rin wanted to avoid the very mention of that topic. She's regarded it as an issue and made herself hold a grudge against it.

"I guess love made him blind enough to see the sense in things. . ."

Rin wheeled around to find Connor biting his lip and staring at the carpet silently. She glanced at the paper first, then back at him. "You've got to be joking, right? Love _made_ him go insane."

Hayes shrugged and looked at her thoughtfully, "Everyone's a sucker for love. It's not something you can control. Once you feel something, it's loose! That's life!"

Rin could have sworn her left eyebrow twitched. "F-fine. Whatever. I'll leave you to thinking that. It's utter rubbish: You'll have to learn how to grow up sometime."

Not bothering to hide a chuckle, Connor wiped the tears from his eyes. "I think you've been focusing too much on growing up that you _did_ forget to."

That didn't make any sense. But that's the way Rin liked Hayes's statements; straightforward and nonsensical.

"Oh, come on, Rinny," implored Connor, sounding close to frustrated. "Don't you _ever_ smile? Or, like, giggle or something?"

"I think you know me well enough that I don't do any of those things," murmured Rin, recalling that she _did_ laugh hard at the rat's — _Len's _— dramatic entrance, even though she hadn't ever laughed since. She was scared that Len was starting to rub in on her, and that her conscience would try and beseech her to actually _smile_ sometime. Connor sighed and grinned at her like an idiot.

"That's what I like about you, Rinny!"

Suddenly, strong and bulky arms — not to mention _unsanitary _— arms wrapped themselves around Rin's waist, and she squeaked (although she thought she heard a few giggles coming from the window — cough — the nosy servants — cough.) Connor's chin was rested on top of her head, and her face was squished against his chest: He smelled badly of streets and . . . cinnamon.

"G-get off me!" Rin squeaked helplessly. "I swear to God I'll sue you!"

"A little hug won't hurt anyone, right?" Connor started to _snuggle_; his cheeks were now rubbing against her hair — which was by now totally messed up — and Rin literally could feel him _sneer_.

"St-stop it, you filthy —"

And, beyond all of their limits of expectations at the moment, the door was suddenly opened, the creaking making them turn to it slowly, synchronising with the door's movement, until their eyes set upon the surprised young blonde standing beneath the threshold. His eyes showed the faintest trace of vague and, which looked unbeknownst to him, ire that concealed a clandestine possessiveness. For the swiftest moment, Rin thought she saw the corners of Len's mouth twitch abnormally in a sort of indignance.

Len had finally found the door that led to the Living Room — the one he and Rin had a meeting in the last time — and had opened the door to find himself in the utmost bewilderment at the scene before him; something unfamiliar boiled inside him and he thought a little of his dignity burned in dissatisfaction. He didn't know from what, but he'd never felt this before: His brand-new greed for something. . . What was this? He felt a little regret in this, as well. . . Len should've worn more presentable attire — maybe his pyjamas weren't enough for Rin. But who was this boy, who had been in fact no one in splendour, and who was just in the same situation as Len was in, judging by his clothes, who was now embracing the young girl _Len_ was supposed to be with right now? (The statement being innocent, no malicious romance included.)

Shuffling his feet almost in haste, Len stood up straight, ignoring the wrath that was starting to build up inside him. "Good morning, Lady Rin."

The Lady didn't expect such a formal greeting — from Len, at least — so much that she spluttered — it was that or Hayes's grip on her just tightened — "G-good morning, Len." And followed by, "Get off me you pest!" when Hayes started to caress her back with his hands: She gave an effortful push so that he would back off her. Said boy smirked, smoothing his tousled hair.

Connor chuckled, and he walked over to Len, extending a friendly hand, which Len was having a cold apprehension on whether to slap that hand away or to shake it. He took his time thinking about how on earth Rin had let this young man touch her; Len was now absentmindedly staring at Hayes's free hand, which was waiting for his to shake it. Finally, Len came to his senses, and immediately shook Hayes's hand — but his eyebrow twitched, and his gaze was now turned to Hayes's pair of eyes: He deliberately didn't make any effort on fighting back his dreadful, menacing scrutiny, and it was his very intention to do something like intimidate Hayes. However, an almost bored, jaded look was shot back at him.

"Connor Hayes," said the young boy informally, a smirk playing upon his lips. "I'm sure we'll get along _just fine_. Nice to meet you."

"Pleased," Len shot back, trying to keep a cool, calm facade. Emphasis on trying. "Len. I am sure you're very well informed that I am under the management of Lady Rin here?"

"Ah, as a matter of fact, I am. She spoke of your going in the window." Hayes truly was an irritable young man. "Isn't that a grand entrance?"

"Yeah, well, better than nothing," snapped Len, irritated. He was _losing_ his patience. Then he turned to Rin's back, who was priming herself up again in front of the mirror across the room. "You called me, Ri — _Milady_?"

Rin turned around, and she had that almost fake, happy smile — which was more of a straight line of a pair of lips, but it was good enough as a smile in Rin's standards — when she replied plainly, "Hayes here will explain to you the case. I'm too tired to tell you everything."

Len could have sworn he would have gagged when he saw that uncharacteristic grin Connor was giving him. So he was here to talk to _Len_, right? Not Rin. . . Somehow, there was a light feeling that lifted Len up in the inside. But his opinion of him won't _ever_ change. "What do you wanna know about the case?"

When Len came to think about it, since the case was already over and done with, why should he still meddle with it? Maybe it was still his sense of curiosity that invaded his mind. Either way, he managed, "W-well, firstly, I want to know who was killed."

Rin came down and sat on the couch; Len and Connor made a quick movement and sat down beside her on both her sides. The Lady, who was so oblivious, replied almost immediately to Len's question, "It was Mortimer Snow. . . He's a gardener down Whitehall."

"Crazy ol' bleeder, I tell you," muttered Connor, stretching his arms. "Charges too much for a dandelion."

"Shut up, Hayes," Rin snapped, sighing. "Apparently, he and Wield used to be friends. They went down the same path in life, but they viewed the environment differently; Snow had his own opinion, and Wield of course had his perspective on things, too. They only realised their dissimilarities when a woman waltzed in their lives, and changed their friendship forever."

Len adjusted himself in his seat. "They realised that the differences they had, the bond that glues them together, were also the catalysts that broke them apart?"

Allowing society to influence him.

"Sorta," said Rin, waving her hand loftily. Then she picked up the papers. ". . . According to the report, Snow even got the girl: Because of that, his best friend deserted them to find another woman. Except, he didn't, and _couldn't._

"_Snow_ was the good man in their friendship. But he hid a secret that no one would have ever thought someone like him would keep."

Connor supplied, "He's an abortioner."

"Abortionist," Rin corrected, her nerve showing. Len's eyes widened.

"They _exercise_ that principle?"

Rin gulped. "Yeah, apparently. As I was saying, he might have been a bit . . . reckless, I guess. When he found out that his wife was pregnant with his child, he tried to 'fix' things. . . So when the child was born — the poor baby had been conceived in their own house — he took her to the prostitutes' place so that they would take care of the baby for him. . . In fact, he didn't even let his poor wife leave the house when the bulge in her stomach started to grow; she was like a prisoner in their house for months. . . Snow was selfish, no matter how far his life was from delinquency or other crimes at their time; he was still a horrible father. A dirty little liar who's fit for being a sucking scum."

"I think he's afraid that the child would ruin their name or something," Connor noted, "Some nutter he is."

"Wait — wait," Len said, slightly confused. "How's he an abortionist? He didn't exactly kill his child, remember?"

Rin went silent for a second, and then she revealed the other papers. "Take a look at these."

Len looked at what Rin was hiding: They were newspapers with sepia-toned pictures of crying women and a headline reading, 'DISAPPEARING BABIES.'

Len put on a sceptical look. Who wanted to snatch _babies_?

Connor sneered and answered his unspoken question almost too smugly, "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Ben."

"It's _Len_, you dolt," snapped Rin suddenly.

Hayes waved an airy hand. "Same thing. Where was I? I know what you're thinking. Apparently, kidnapping babies is an excellent way to make money."

Something struck Len so suddenly he almost fell out of his seat. His world had suddenly made a somersault, and he was getting quite dizzy. There was a keyword in what Hayes said that made him react like that. . . Len's vision had momentarily turned monochrome, and his heart had started to jump in and out of his ribcage, like it was calling out to a long lost memory Len had forgotten, or had been afraid to remember. Ripples of rage and anger exploded inside him suddenly, but he was confused why — he couldn't remember anything at all. There was a clenching feeling inside him, and he had to bawl his fists just to balance the pain. This didn't go unnoticed by Rin (as usual.)

"You need to pull yourself together, Len," she said dismissively. Which wasn't much of any help, but Len could suffice with that. "Even though Snow was completely a kind man, his conscience defies his sanity. . . And as soon as he was interrogated by the dealers, he began to question himself. He filled his own head with lies just so he can see reality trouble-free, like he twisted his own beliefs to convince himself. . ."

"Ah, I see," Len piped up. "I guess it goes to show that the way you grew up won't exactly lead you to the same path. But how'd he wander off to evil?"

There was a piece of parchment that landed on Len's lap; almost instinctively, the first thing Len did was read the words.

_1873_

_There have been mysterious groups lurking in the city; we suspect it's the Indians. They have meddled long enough with the authority, despite their piece of land in the city: Squatters and informal settlers, they were. But there is one particular group of Indians that we've heard quite a lot about recently, and it's always bad news: The Felons._

". . ." Len didn't say anything.

"It's a big word for them at the time," explained Rin, feeling a bit awkward. "When they emigrated from India, they only learned to adapt to English."

_The Felons is a group of drug dealers that have been smuggling illegal pills. Also, they are rumoured to be working with a local gardener in London, who claimed to have been in no part of their hooliganisms._

At this, Len's eyes grew wide: He looked at Rin and Hayes (who was pissing him off somehow.) "Wasn't Snow a gardener himself?"

"Yes—"

"Just read the rest," said Hayes abruptly, cutting off Rin's statement.

Len's left eyebrow twitched involuntarily as he shuffled the papers.

_We have caught them making bargains with local citizens, and we finally had them arrested. As it turns out, they were all married; no children from any of them, though. The money they make from their smuggling was all given to the women._

". . . Indians sure respect women," Len noted. "I can piece two-and-two together now."

Hayes's eyes went wide as saucers, which were quite in contrast with Rin's, which she squinted. "Go on. Try."

There was something about Rin that made Len think that she didn't completely think he was a genius, which he _was_. "I assume Snow was married at that time. He made a good deal with the Felons, the Indian gang group, to kidnap their own wives' _babies _. . . and Snow's job was to kill them."

Hayes made an odd face that made him look a bit weird, and Rin frowned. "You're getting warm."

Len, smirking, continued, "Indians are very respectful to women. . . And I think abortion's allowed in their country. . . Because they can't afford a house alone, they surely can't handle raising a family with their wives. So they paid someone to kill their own babies, for fear of disappointing their wives? Okay, okay, I'll continue: The Felons also most likely made a bargain with the crazy killer, too — Wield, was it? — and that's how Wield got hold of those weird drugs. . . But I can't think of a reason why Snow sold his baby to the prostitutes' place. . ."

"The answer's just around the corner," whispered Rin, her expression darkening.

Len racked his brains. . . "Wield was beginning to stalk him, huh?"

Hayes shook his head and sighed. "Poor old git never stopped loving his best friend's wife. . . And poor Snow was going to the brink of madness himself; the pressure of a sin such as killing an innocent, untainted baby drove him to the point of cracking. He feared that Wield would come and kill the baby he and his wife had with their love."

". . . So he stumbled upon the Prostitutes Place." Len breathed. . . ". . . That baby . . . was she the one. . . ?"

Rin gulped, "Yes. She's Carollyne Snow. . . The girl who was with you and Wield yesterday. . ."

"Wield told me she was just someone he knew knows. . . And he must've done a lot of stalking."

"He knew that there was nothing that would hurt Snow more than for his own daughter to get rid of him," muttered Rin carelessly, looking out the window. . . "But Carollyne carried the gun. He fought Snow himself with brute force. . ."

Len was quiet for a while, and he tried to solve the puzzle pieces one by one.

"That's all, really," Rin said, arranging the papers. There was a loud, yet distant noise of hard metal hitting against metal, and it echoed in the halls; Len absentmindedly counted the number of bongs: Eleven.

"Well, it looks like it's already time for lunch!" cried out Hayes. There was something inside Len that snapped when Rin said, "Let's all just eat together, okay. Don't get anything more than the leftovers, though, Connor."

"Yeah! I'd want some croissant!"

And with that, the said peasant opened the doors and raced to the dining room, leaving the two blondes alone.

There was a deafening silence that sandwiched Len's breathing, and he was almost too confused to think. Everything was over, right? He looked at Rin, who was priming her hair again. "Is Wield in jail now?"

Rin patted the dirt she thought was on her dress and she replied, "Yes."

"But where's his daughter, Carollyne?" asked Len, biting his lower lip. Rin was already opening the doors when she said, exasperated, "Just give it up, Len. The case is done. It's over, Len."

Yet before she quite left, she thought about answering his question, "She's in the asylum."

**ME: **_**WHY IS IT THAT WHENEVER I UPDATE, THE CHAPTER ALWAYS ENDS UP SO RUSHED? D: I'm so sorry for the long wait. I was too busy writing Rin's Fanfiction. And I did a lot of RESEARCH on this. Oh, and if you didn't already notice, Guinevere Minnie Mechteld is Gumi, in case you were too lazy to read the paragraph -_-**_

_**Cookie Addiction: Yes, yes he is XD I try :) Thanks for reviewing! I apologise for the long wait, truly. Please accept this pass for a cookie shop near you!**_

_**Hazel Holly: Now he does :D Thanks! I apologise for the long wait! **__**Please accept this pass for a cookie shop near you!**_

_**I apologise Q_Q Might give me some time to update again. Please tell me what song you want the next chapter to be based off next :D SPREAD THE MISTRESS PLEASE!**_


	7. C7: Rin's Invitation to Len

**The Mistress**

March 16th 1888

The poor girl who'd grown up in a prostitutes' house was now sent to the _asylum_? Seriously? Can't she just get a break or something? Even though this girl's situation might have been this pitiful, Len still didn't understand how this newfound indignance of his made him grouchy and mysteriously quiet all throughout brunch.

That . . . or it was the insufferable annoying boy who always kept hitting on _Rin_.

"Hey! Hey, Rinny —"

"If you want to finish that crepe, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut."

Connor Hayes flinched and leaned against the rest of his chair, withdrawing his hand from caressing Rin's. Len found it quite vexing that rich people have to eat in a table where the other diners are like a square mile away from each other, yet that didn't stop this . . . this. . .

". . . Would you like me to call you Rinniekinns instead, Milady?"

. . . _that _to move his chair across the table just to sit next to Rin and enjoy a conversation with her. And Rin wasn't even _doing_ anything.

Just who is this idiot?

As uncomfortable Len was with the new environment, he should at _least_ make the best out of it, because he didn't want to look so unprofessional in front of his employer. She'd already accused him of being a lazy rat. . . Len'd better keep his comments to himself from now on, then.

He couldn't find anything to distract himself from this; the anomalous scene of giggling maids just across Len, sending him rather coquettish glances a boy like him could as much as understand, seemed to just be something to ignore for him. . . This was dull and tedious.

Although, for all the stupid reasons he can ever find, he knew he shouldn't complain; on the contrary, he should at least appreciate the shelter Rin let him in. As much as Len _knew_ Rin would deny it had he said it aloud, she was just a stubborn little girl with a big heart.

As minutes ticked by, he found himself just staring at the reflection of his handsome yet dirty face, deaf to Rin and Hayes's conversation at the other end of the table: Truthfully, he didn't want to intrude Rin, but he was _seriously_ unentertained. Cross that, he was hands-down bored. He could just march down to her end of the table but there was _something_ there that kept him from doing just that.

He shouldn't . . . be angry, right? What? Angry? Him? What's there to be angry about? _Was_ he really angry? Or . . . was it something else? He tried to look deep inside himself — figuratively, if you haven't figured that out — and sensed spite, a malicious loathing towards something.

The reflection of the look on his face betrayed what he kept denying to himself in the inside; he'd looked absolutely . . . what was a good word for this? . . . _Beaten_, maybe.

"LEN! GET OVER HERE."

There was a loud, guttural noise not so unlike a carnivore's that resonated from the other side of the table, and Len's eyes met the face of the owner of the voice whom he had initially momentarily thought belonged to that of a beast's. Rin looked _preeetty _ticked. For a moment there, all prejudice and all of the feelings he forced himself to think weren't real were all forgotten, all to be replaced by fear and urgency to get himself over to Rin's side of the long table without getting burned to ashes by the intimidating look she was giving him.

Len clumsily slid off his chair and didn't hesitate to sprint.

The closer he got, the more he regretted not moving his eyes from Rin's face, because it looked that much scarier (Len was somewhat irked more by the snide look on Hayes's face, and chose to simply ignore it.) Rin took a gentle sip from her tea cup — still eyeing Len like a predator — and passed him a fresh newspaper just printed this morning. Curious, Len leaned and looked at it.

**Royal twenty-first birthday of Earl Emmett Ballard**

At this, Len raised an eyebrow, still looking at the paper before him. . .

. . . mostly . . .

. . . because . . .

. . . he didn't . . .

. . . know . . .

. . . how to read.

Just kidding, Len could read fine, but his head hurt so much so suddenly, his eyesight was a little off, and little colourful clouds eluded his vision from letting him read any more words. _W-what? That somehow sounded familiar. . . ?_

Why was it so?

"I trust you know Emmett Ballard," said Rin curtly, biting her bread. (Hayes was trying _desperately_ to get her attention by running his hands through her hair. ((But this information seemed far too 'irrelevant' so that's why it's in parentheses.))) "One of the richest people in London. I personally don't know this person that well to judge him, but people say he's a fairly nice man . . . ish. Bloke."

Len wanted to point out that Rin was already _starting_ to sound like Hayes herself, but bit his tongue from saying anything.

Getting rather annoyed with herself for accidentally saying that, Rin slurred — _slurred _— "Hayes, you handle this, I'm too tired to tell him."

His eyes brightening, and almost miraculously finding the energy again, Connor Hayes had the unnerving grin that almost made Len want to gag up what little he ate yet of his breakfast in front of Rin. "Oh, yeah, Rinny-Rin-Rin! Anything for you!"

The said lady turned the other way and grumbled something, looking slightly flustered. _Flustered_.

"Don't ever call me that again." Rin snapped. All in all, it wasn't her _worst_ comeback, but Len had to say, he heard better from her. Something inside him bubbled viciously at the sight of her rattled face.

Connor smiled silently to himself as he began explaining the significance of the headline, puffing out his chest a bit. "You see, this man's turning _twenty-one_ years old tomorrow night. He's been handing out invitations to rich people — and somewhat poor people with strong connections to his family — and larger groups of royalty to celebrate his debut."

"Wait, wait," Len interjected, looking confused. "I thought only women have debuts?"

The Lady's reaction seemed too ridiculous to take seriously (then again, so was his question.) Rin had literally nearly choked halfway drinking her tea, and she glared at Len, who was clueless as to why he made her exasperated.

Hayes clicked his tongue and made a hissing sound, smirking beside Len, who glared spitefully at him. "Clearly, you express the exact _qualities_ of having been cast into the streets, Sven."

"It's _Len_. And _you'd _been thrown into the pavement too, so I suggest you —"

"_And_ I've been invited to this ball." Rin emphasised the words she said with such loudness she managed to stop the boys from throttling each other. When Len thought about what she said, his mind immediately constructed a scene of Rin, wearing a profusely frill-extravagant dress, walking down a large staircase that led downstairs, looking abnormally pleasant and — gasp! — _nice_.

"Oh, are you sure you'd want to wear such —" Len faked coughing "— _profanity_?"

Rin shot him a glare, and Connor looked as though he pretended to be hurt as well just to irk him. "I was given an assignment — mainly because I'd . . . passed the mystery of the 'odd disappearance' of the jewel that was preserved in the museum."

Len's heart skipped a beat, but his composure was the same; not a trace of surprise. So . . . no one was going to pay for the thievery? _Seriously?_

"My assignment's to protect the earl."

Connor clapped his hands and wooted — is that a word? "That's my girl! As you can see, earls are _rich_, Zen, and there are many who want Emmett murdered."

(Len thought he was misspelling his name on purpose.) "And you think there'll be an _assassin_ in disguise?"

"Yes. There've already been attempts on killing him, so it's not unnatural that there's someone who'll do something on his birthday." Wiping her mouth with a handkerchief, Rin pushed herself off the table and sat up, raising a hand to signal the maids that she was done eating: Immediately, they went to the table and picked up the plates one by one almost routinely.

She was already standing next to Len and Connor when she said, directly referring to Connor, "You're here long enough, Hayes."

Connor shrugged. "I don't know. Don't you want me here? Okay — okay, Wellington forced me to spy on you a bit and see what you're up to." He held his hands up high after seeing Rin's eyes narrow. "I'm sorry. But really, I was here on my own account. And to help you with that Snow case. The bloke who's whacked out was sent to a mental ward, actually, for illegal possession of drugs and . . . obviously."

Thinking it'd lighten the mood a bit, Len supposed, Connor made little circles around the air pointing to his head, indicating 'crazy.' Rin didn't smile.

"I hate to be rude, but I think you should go now. . ." There were creases in Rin's forehead, and Len found it quite humorous to see them in a childish face. "Besides, it's getting . . . dark."

Was Rin the worst liar in the world or what? It was still noon. That, or she purposely didn't have any intentions to make him leave, because maybe all she wanted was privacy, which couldn't be attained when Connor's in the room with them.

However stupid Len thought Connor was, he got the message, and suddenly, his glee vanished if for that moment. "Ah, I see, Mistress. I'll be going now then."

Patting his worn-out beret, Connor dramatically bowed and turned his heel, walking to the door. He knew where to leave, didn't he? That's the way he got in. . . But Hayes's character was one that seemed to be curious to Len. Who was he to his Lady? They seemed to be in good terms with each other — at least Rin isn't throwing anything at him — and they obviously look like they've been through _something_. Their relationship didn't have the potential to strike Len as a sort of suspicion, but . . . simply mere curiosity.

Len looked at Rin, who was watching Connor opening the huge doors and then closing it with a loud _berclack_, mainly because he wanted to know what she was thinking. It was rather hard to discern someone's thoughts if that person was wearing the same expression every day. And when he finally left the manor, the doors he closed creating a noisy shutting sound, leaving Rin and Len the only ones left in the Dining room, Rin slumped to her chair and groaned into her hands, quite a sight to behold.

The poor girl had a breakdown, and she was sobbing so much it broke Len's heart.

"R-Rin!" Len kneeled down next to her, surprised and confused as ever. He tried to put a comforting hand on her back, but she lightly pushed it away.

"G-get off me. . ." With her hands not covering her face anymore, he could see that she really was indeed crying. And upset. Very much. He recoiled, more at seeing her broken face than him being pushed, and backed away a bit. "I don't need your pity. Or anyone e-else's."

What nonsense. Len simply can't understand this girl, even as much as he wanted to. Does he have to endure this every day? Well, he can't if he manages to calm her down a bit. This girl's starting to creep Len out, or at least her stubbornness was. His lips formed a straight line and he stood up, patting his clothes and flattening them; the things he'd worn today were still quite bloody because of the day previously, and this was one of the best stuff he'd stolen, too. He tried to look as placidly serious as possible. "As you wish. I can't stop you if you want to cry, and if you expect me to just stand here and watch you, I will."

Clearly surprised with Len's steely resolve, Rin clicked her tongue and looked away. "J-just ignore this. . . What I tell you is more important."

Oh, Len highly doubted that. He valued what she was feeling more than what she was about to say, though he kept his mouth shut about this. Since Len didn't say anything — but had some words in mind nonetheless — Rin continued, her back bobbing up and down from sobbing. "The people who'd brought the artefacts already packed up and left, so it's already too late. . . They demanded London to contribute a fair amount of money to pay for the lost jewel, and I had to donate the entire amount instead."

"What's so bad about that?" Len voiced out his thoughts. Rin barely had the strength to say anything.

Slowly, the heart that beat fast in Len's ribcage was starting to burst from so much pity.

"N-nothing. . . Oh God I'm going to get arrested. . ." Rin said to herself. Len scoffed in his mind; she was used to solving mysteries but she didn't think this scenario _through_? "Th-there was . . . a sort of argument between the Indians and the Londoners. I didn't know it could lead to this."

"Of _course_ it could lead to this," Len said, not smiling. He wasn't frowning either. "Don't tell me you didn't actually think you'd get away with it, even if I stole the thing traceless."

This snapped Rin from her sobbing and she looked up at him, frowning. Yes, that's Rin all right. "I _did_ know. What do you take me for? It's just . . . ugh, you don't understand. . ."

But Len did understand. There was a difference between wanting something and finally getting it. It's how you get it. She thought everything in the world _can_ be stolen — in Len's case, he had to agree with that one — but the consequences may have been far more severe than what Rin had expected. Indeed; what if they _will_ be caught, even if the matter had passed? There was absolutely no doubt that the people who put the jewel up in display were foreigners. The burglary could damage England's very reputation, as well as how well it does business with other countries. What was more, it would be very suspicious why Rin had suddenly passed the case, and worse, she even fit the bill.

Nobody would ever think this would be a coincidence if they thought this through enough. Exactly what was Rin thinking when she wanted that jewel? Len had spent enough time with Rin to know well that she wouldn't just want to actually hire someone to steal something that valuable and secured. . .

Unless. . .

"It was all just a test." The words that escaped from Len's mouth sounded far harsher than he intended to. It had all made sense. "You didn't actually _want_ me to succeed. . . Or at least, you didn't expect me to."

Rin kept silent the entire time. Even her sobs vanished. She just looked at him, urging him to continue.

"You wanted to see — make _sure_ — that I was serious about my job. . ." It was ironic, really; Len felt . . . cheap, was that a right word? Despite what he and Rin went through — even for the lack of sociable communication — he still felt that they already created a bond that stimulates trust between them.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, practically beaten. No, he wasn't mad. . . Just . . . yeah, beaten. There wasn't any other word to describe it. Len just wanted her to say it straight in his face, and get it over with. That calm face of hers just made his blood boil; her eyes were bored into his, though he felt the pain that was silently expressed through them.

". . . And now, now that you actually _know_ what I'm capable of — you learned that the hard way — what're you going to do about the damage you'd done?"

Her mouth was a dull thin line with the left corner of the lips dipping downward a bit. Len was surprised she spoke at all, "Everything's passed. There's nothing I can do about it. The public doesn't expect anyone to rise and just claim know who stole the jewel. The best we can do is keep this hidden and hope that this mystery will remain unsolved until we die."

Humourless guilt was easily traced in her voice, even though her last statement seemed to contain something _close_ to funny. The pitiful look on her face just touched Len — mostly because it was another expression he found that actually _exists_ in Rin's face — so he decided to just drop the subject, despite of the empty perfidy he felt in the inside.

"So you — uh — underestimate my abilities?"

Rin wiped her eyes, blushing — it could probably have been because she let Len see her cry — and replied, gathering all her capricious primacy. "Not in the slightest anymore. And I'll prove you just that by letting you come with me to the ball tomorrow night."

Shock and electricity ran through Len like wildfire: _Ball_? Him?

"What?"

"You heard me," she replied flatly. Then, looking at the ground, "It'd just be humiliating of me if I, a daughter of a duke, will come to the ball without an escort."

Rin made herself quite clear, and Len didn't even have any time to disagree, or any reason to. Apart from, "But I can't dance well —"

Which was of course an ambiguous _lie_: He snuck into so many places; and one of them was an opera house just a few blocks away from Rin's mansion, and naturally, he watched the performers act and dance and sing. Len may have tripped a couple of times by things as simple as shoelaces, but he was more than meets the eye. (Come on, _someone_ has to know how to dance between them.)

"Me neither, but we aren't even there to _dance_, Len." It was even the first time she said his name right! No 'rats' or 'peasant. . .' "Or are you just going to leave _neat things_ untouched in Ballard's mansion?"

Len flinched. "I don't steal unless I need stuff. What good will jewellery be to me?"

Rin placed her elbows on the table and entwined her fingers, perching her chin on them lazily. "Oh I don't know. But maybe information will."

Raising his eyebrows, Len asked, "What kind?"

"About you," she said, not smiling. Rin was looking up bored at Len, who was looking at her in the opposite way; interested. "Being a thief, you know the whos and whats about everyone. But being an orphan, you know everyone's little secret and lives except yours."

Huh. Tempting offer. Len can't help but feel curious. . . After all, maybe Emmett Ballard didn't strike him familiar, but somehow it rang a bell, like it was a part of his lost past. "What makes you think Ballard's got anything to do with me?"

That was when Rin's lips twisted into a smile; a smile that wasn't exactly for a face that was so used to frowning or even a face of a child. It was almost a dark smile that didn't suit both her usual look or her thirteen-year-old face. "I'm surprised you don't know. Earl Emmett's mansion is quite magnificently spacious, and his family had always been the generous ones. They had an entire part of their mansion where they let stray orphans stay."

At the word orphan, a searing pain shot through Len's brain and made his senses numb._ He remembered something_. There was something in what Rin said that triggered a memory in Len.

Seeing that Len had gone unresponsive and suddenly cringing, Rin scowled slightly. "Familiar? That part of their mansion was — and probably still is unless they renovated — a secluded one, separate from all the amenities and facilities it provided for the royals, and quite remote apart from the children who used to run around there.

"The orphans were only given shelter, because it would be abusive if the royals have to take care of them, too. Nevertheless, they gave them clothes once or twice, sewn by the royals' maidens. The orphans themselves looked royal, too. I think this tradition of hospitality still continues," Rin added. "I think the Earl also admitted being friends with most of the orphans when he was younger."

Len gulped and looked at his options. This sounded good. He wasn't going to lose anything either if he will join this . . . he was just going to accompany Rin and be her escort, and he'll ask around about that part of the mansion. . . Wait —

"I'll just have to nick something from the neighbours, okay?" mumbled Len, smiling now. He couldn't hide his excitement, oddly enough. Though the resentment that he was attending a formal ball still remained. Of course, he didn't have a suit of his own.

"You don't have a suit of your own?" asked Rin, her tone not as boorish as usual. Which was weird. Seeing the look on his face, Rin pressed on, "There's a bunch of clothes for you to wear in my father's room, but I'll only allow you to wear one suit, nothing else."

Len cringed: Was Rin being . . . thoughtful? One suit'd be enough for Len; he didn't think Rin could be this generous.

"I don't want anything to go wrong in this assignment the squad gave me," Rin mumbled, looking at the floor. "They were already suspicious enough with me, so don't dare screw up, because I carry the name Langley — now Kagamine — with me."

Ah. That's definitely Rin. No wonder she was suddenly being not so mean. (Maybe saying that she was starting to be nice was too much.) Len stood straight and said, "Yeah, Milady. Should I go get the suit now?"

He took a step backward when Rin snapped her fingers out of the blue. Two maids — one of them who looked old enough to be a mother and the other too young to even serve Rin — came into the dining room again, still holding the china plates.

They were both wearing unnecessary maid outfits — seeing as they were obviously serving someone in a _house _— come on, who wears things like that in the _house_? — and waited for Rin to say something. Upon closer inspection, the younger of the two actually had odd green hair that reached past her shoulders. The green-haired maid caught Len staring and Len looked away, not wanting to piss anyone off.

That was sort of weird. . . Green hair? Len bit his tongue so he won't babble about anything offensive and just realised that Rin was already talking away. "Meredith, Guinevere, this boy doesn't know where my father's room is at, so I'd like it if you take him there."

The motherly looking one looked mildly surprised, but not enough to make her drop the plates. "Why not give him directions?"

For a second there, Len thought he might have shrunk, because Rin replied, shifting her gaze to him, "I'm afraid he'll not last a minute without breaking anything in the path."

Quite irked about that, Len said, "Hey, that's not entirely true —"

"We'll do it right away, Ma'am!" Len turned to look at the greenette who interrupted him. Her eyes were sparkling quietly with enthusiasm at just serving Rin. "What'll you want him to do there, Milady?"

Len responded for Rin, the words slipping from his mouth before he even knew it, "Nothing, just get her father's suit is all."

The maids' eyes widened — whether or not it was in surprise, Len didn't know, because he didn't have enough time to; Rin ushered them outside by saying, "I want you to get there as soon as possible. Len and I still have matters to discuss."

At this, Len heard a small squeal who he guessed was from the greenette beside him, which might have been inaudible enough for Rin not to have heard, due to her lack of reaction. As he stared at the greenette, he reckoned that if she hadn't been holding plates, she would have covered her mouth from that squeal.

Rin held a hand to dismiss them, standing up from her seat, and the two maids bowed automatically before they looked at Len, pushing his back lightly so he would face the direction to the other door. The older, less odd one — . . . what? — was telling him, "We'll still have to stop by the kitchen to drop these off."

She gestured to the plates she'd been holding, raising them with both her hands. Len nodded, not finding the voice to talk. He glanced behind his back and saw Rin walking out the gigantic sunlit dining room. He took his only chance and shouted, "Call for me if you need anything!"

Whether she didn't hear him clearly or she just completely ignored him — Len guessed it was the latter — he was sure of one thing; she knew what he meant.

Greenette was the left to him as they exited the dining room as well, her hands on the plates surprisingly looking loose, "Oooh, worried if _Rinniekinns _is going to get lost in this big scary mansion?"

Len furrowed his brows, following the two maids suit in the wide hallway: There was another window that was ceiling-high behind them, or to the left of the door they just went through, with sunlight shining through the glass and striking the three with its heat. And it seemed to Len that in every hallway, there would always be a portrait of a tall blond man with such an apparent determined supremacy position, and an overly stylish 'L' mark beneath it engraved on the frame.

At the end of the short but wide hall there were two forks that led to the staircase and to another hall. Sigh, too many directions. The carpet they were walking on also had quite a traditional design.

"I don't think I'd be worried of her for that," he replied after a few seconds of observing their environment. Greenette stuck out a tongue at him, to which he scowled curiously at.

"Bah, stop being so boring. We know you like Rin."

Being the clumsy idiot he was, Len accidentally knocked over a bunch of organic plates the other maid was holding at the surprise of what the greenette had just told him. The plates seemed to have been falling in slow motion when Len, whose eyes seemed to have shifted from one direction to the other, caught them all one by one before they landed on the floor.

After standing up in poise, Len heaved a sigh. "Oh dear, you didn't need to be so careless," the brunette maid said, her hand on her mouth. The greenette smirked in victory.

Curse her.

Len frowned at her and handed the other maid the plates. "I can't deny that I don't feel anything for her — although I'll tell you one thing. Her secure saftey's what matters. And I'd do anything to save her."

Cocking an eyebrow, the brunette couldn't help but ask as they made a turn to the left of the hall, "You're somewhat of a bodyguard to her then?"

Fake-gasping, Greenette exclaimed, "So you _do_ care!"

"I _do _care if something happens to her," replied Len honestly, and as curt as possible. "Her gratification is second to her welfare: I want her to smile, and see the sparkle in her eyes. I want her to trust in me so much to believe that every wrong thing I do with or to her is right, and every wrong feelings she used to feel was right. I don't ever want her to be disappointed in my presence, and I've made sure of that and always will. I'll satisfy her in every way I can — _maybe_ not in that way," Len added hastily, eyes distracted high in the ceiling when he saw Greenette sneer pervertedly at him and Brunette staring oddly at him.

"N-nice speech there, Shakespeare," Greenette said, whistling. "By the way, I'm Guinevere. But it's so freaking long, y'know. I just go by Gumi!"

Len nodded, and looked at the brunette, expecting her to introduce herself. "I'm Meredith. I take care of Rin most of the time because of the long time I'd been working for her."

"I'm Len. Just Len," he said, smiling.

When they reached a steel door with metal hinges, they entered it backwards — so as to not break any plates — and made a sign that they'll be back as soon as they return the plates, leaving Len alone in the hallway.

Hmm. . . Sometimes he wanted to believe in what he said. He'd be a hypocrite if he didn't. Len wasn't even entirely sure he was fond of Rin, but there was definitely _something_.

**...**

**ME: I'm sorry I took too long to update! Q_Q School was being a jerk and I had to do other Oneshots to make up for this D :**

** Tumbleweed: Whoa, thanks xD I still haven't watched the second season yet D : Wish I could though! : ) Thanks for reviewing! Have a cookie ^-^**

** Cookie Addiction: Haha, I love Connor too! : D Thanks for the ideas, too! Thanks a lot for reviewing! XD Have a cookie ^-^**

** Lolly 1o1: This story loves you too :3 ****Thanks for reviewing! Have a cookie ^-^**

**Bet'cha didn't know Meredith was actually MEIKO, eh? I didn't plan it to be her, either, at first. But then I always imagined Meredith as a brunette, and hey, Me-redith and Me-iko! Story idea! XD Gumi's such a RinxLen fan. I just HAD to bring someone like her into this story. Her character's quite the type to be a supporter!**

**So, next chapter: The Earl's assassination! : O Oh noes! Obviously, this's based off on Cendrillon now! : D Check out the fanmade video, which is KaiKu, or MiTo, whichever. (Len'll be wearing a mofreaking tux. Ohgerd.)**

**I liked how I portrayed Connor's character, don't you? : ) He's straightforward.**

**And they just bought me an XBOX! XD What game's good for it?**

**That aside, what do you think of Rin now? o.O "It was just a test." Don't cry, Len! We're here for you xD Was my impersonation of Ciel on her good? Yeah. Len's a clumsy Sebastian, too. Deal with it X3 Could anyone be any more adorable than that?**

**I want Rin to soften up to Len as much as I can, making her quite the tsundere : P**


	8. C8: Milady's Dance Partner

**The Mistress**

March 17th 1888

**L**en may have been used to wear suits such as the ones he'd stolen himself, but it was still weird. Not that he was feeling unfamiliar to it, but he thought that maybe it was the fact that someone had actually given it to him: Like he was _morally_ wearing something that he — well, 'earned' might have been a much too nice word that didn't suit Len's current situation, but the meaning was still there. His long pale fingers traced along the puffy part of his undershirt that was revealed through the unbuttoned vest he was wearing — certainly though, above all the things he had worn, this was the most affluent-looking. Of course, as was the person who once owned it. It gave him the debonair flare, this macabre suit. The more he looked at himself in the mirror, the surer he was that his reflection was replaced by a handsome Red Death.

Convincing himself that it was actually him in the mirror took Len ages. That handsome mildly surprised appearance that reflected what he previously thought was an unpleasant face was unbelievably his indeed; the manly edgy parts that defined a rather fast growth were prominent, and his pretty slushy-blue eyes didn't have the same dim street-prideful look that indicated the tender loving of someone he was so deficient in: His eyes almost made him look . . . more human, in the way he looked like he was actually loved in his lost years. Blond hair that used to stick out in all directions had been combed down from its original tousled state literally _changed_ the way Len looked. He didn't like it combed, but it did make him look like a certain god — he was the 19th century _Adonis_. Quietly brushing his bangs away from his eyes, he also shook his arms so that his long sleeves would fall extravagantly to his wrists, his cuffs making him itch. Would he have to endure that the entire night? Eventually his eyes turned to look at his brand new shoes, which were polished clean. Huh, they had one-inch heels. Perhaps he had to bear with them for the rest of the night, too.

Rin's male servants helped Len with dressing up, no matter how many times he said no — Rin would just sneer at his pathetic complaints, too, which was such a bummer. However, at that time, Len couldn't wait to see Rin in her much dreaded dress — er, to see her _expression_, of course.

Right now he wasn't so sure. His heart was thumping loudly though he didn't know why.

He reckoned Rin was already through with changing, and he was looking at his reflection a little longer than what a normal un-narcissus person Rin expects to, so he strode to the door to get out of the closet. (Yes, he was in a 'closet.' The walk-in kind with a mirror. And a table. And yes, clearly, even a closet needs a freaking _chandelier_.)

When he opened the door, the first thing he looked for was Rin: There was a landing below the stairs before him, and another set of stairs that led to the other side of the floor Len was in across the patio of the mansion with large locked doors — without any labelled at all in spite of how long it might take someone to memorise where each of the doors will lead them — and the staircase's railings were gold, and the red carpet ran all the way down every tread. The stairs down the landing led to the grand hall to Len's left. And as usual a room can't be called Rin's unless there was a gigantic chandelier that hung up the ceiling. In short, it was like the background staircase of the ballroom in Beauty and the Beast.

Finding that the lady was nowhere in sight, he tried to walk in his suit as normally as he could — but what irked him was the fact that he _couldn't_: It was all tight-fitting and he barely managed the strut he was walking. Len grunted every time he took a step down. Quite honestly, he thought that Rin was so determined she made perfectly certain about his not messing up at the party by choosing the clothes that just about fit him, making him not movable enough to cause trouble. Strangely enough, Rin let him keep his favourite shoes; he's been through a lot wearing them. He didn't insist that he'd keep it at all when he was asked to wear it. She just told him she didn't want a runt like him to wear her father's shoes.

The only word that Len managed to think of when he'd heard Rin was _typical_.

As his shoes' worn heels landed on the last step, he heard a loud slam of a door and footsteps. Len instinctively turned his head to look at the top of the stairs where he didn't descend from and felt his heart do a few backflips and his stomach twist.

There, standing with such pride and bearing superiority over all that reside in the room, was Rin Langley herself, clad in an extravagant and luxurious dress that was both simple and elegant; everything else on her looked too loose and old for her if a bit, so Len wasn't used to seeing her wearing things that fit her, because it suitedher more than just well, hugging her youthful slim figure nicely. Not a gown nor a cocktail, but a dress was what she wore. A dress that's appropriate for her age and for her face, which was generally absent of childish glee or any glee at all. The hem of the long fabric clothing reached past her knees modestly, though this was probably the shortest thing Len's seen her wear. His curiosity was rising exponentially — along with his one eyebrow — the more he analysed what she was wearing (or, on the contrary, what she was missing.) He was more shocked at what she wasn't wearing than what she was new to right now, oddly enough, but no one can blame him; Rin's hair wasn't tied up at all now, and what's taken its place was a bow with the knot a little above her left ear, giving her a sort of guileless look, as did everything else; most of her lower neck could be seen, but her collar only reached a few inches below it, exposing her milky shoulders to some extent; her sleeves were a bit puffy — for lack of better word — and revealed more of her arms and made it look more slender than her previous clothes that clashed with her features let on. There was a white lace tying her bonnet, which was adorned with a little white gem.

She had never looked stunning in anything more Len had ever seen her wear. Her very attire just lifted Len's mood somehow, and momentarily changed the way he thought of her if a bit.

Rin noticed him gawking, because she barked, "Don't you know how to escort a lady, Len?"

Still a bit dazed, Len cheekily replied, hoping she'd at least not frown at his joke, "I'm not sure if this's a lady or an angel at all, Ma'am."

She didn't find it funny, but she showed no signs of detest either. (Probably because she was in a hurry, but it was progress enough for Len.) "We shan't run late; they'd behead us as soon as they find out we're not in time."

Maybe Len should've given up on kidding around with Rin a long time ago. But that doesn't mean he should take things as seriously as she did, though. He beamed at her and bowed. "Yes, Milady."

As Rin descended the steps, Len prepared for what he expected to be a long evening of what was supposed to be dancing and eating delicacies was to be a night of secret investigation. Already a few inches from him, Rin extended her gloved hand and waited for his to take it. He did, and they both walked down the huge staircase hand-in-hand, though not in the romantic way you expect. It was just a platonic and indifferent gesture.

…

Ballard's manor was indeed huger than Rin's, and the thief in Len was tempted to filch at everything that existed in in there. Mills was Rin's usual driver — she favoured him for his impeccability and his silence — and they bid him goodbye when they stepped on the stone-plated floor that was a part of Ballard's property: It was as if the gates weren't enough, because once they entered the courtyard, they'd seen only just the half of the earl's mansion. There was a fountain at the middle of the yard, where there was a boundary between the grass and the cement, spouting water high up the air. Not unlike Rin's, though, there was a staircase that needed to be treaded in order to reach the door to Ballard's house, with two statues sitting on pillars both at the ends of the stairs.

There were countless people who came in the mansion, the whole lot of them travelling in pairs. Naturally, everyone who was invited was supposed to bring a single guest to accompany them to the ball this evening, but Len couldn't help but feel slightly conscious about his being together with Rin. Alone.

The sky was painted velvet blue with a layer of white blotches strewn all over it. In addition to that, the moon was high up, illuminating the environment with its beauty: Len had to say, as a romantic himself — _cough _— this was the most glorious night for couples or young lovers just fresh in the age of adolescence to witness such stoic and peaceful surroundings. It almost seemed as if God was cooperating with them this night. Like He was giving star-crossed, lost, hopeless and desperate suckers a chance to make their move on the ladies. . .

And then Len's eyes fell upon Rin, who looked absolutely dazzling in her dress in the moonlight. She was wearing a look on her face that Len perceived was hesitance; like she's reassuring herself. She might as well have been just as distracted as Len was.

"Something in your mind? Mistress?" Len wasn't sure he was ready to get used to calling Rin 'Mistress' every after he said something, so he'd just stick to this. His question was anything but said carelessly, although Rin always took her time in answering him, so this wasn't big of a deal.

As usual, Rin flushed — probably because from letting herself get so absorbed in her own thoughts — and turned away before Len even saw the rest of her expression, which he was always so entertained of seeing.

"Nothing you should be concerned about," she said indifferently, though Len heard a twinge of hastiness in her words, but he let it slide. What could she've had in her mind that was so worrying that it made her to slip up lying?

He decided to leave it aside for now, because he didn't want Rin to worry about it any more than she already was. Rin raised the hem of her dress so she could walk up the stairs more comfortably, and Len just followed after her, still minding about her welfare. That girl. . . She truly was tenacious. Whatever could be going on in her head right now must've been too a big a matter for Rin to handle by herself. Len wished she could be more open, but she just wouldn't let anybody get near her. As much as he wanted to give up, what this lady had was far too valuable.

But, Len's mind interjected as he turned to Rin, who was having trouble with going up the stairs, it was also difficult for his part to just 'use' Rin. No matter in what word he tried to fit what Rin meant to him, it was always the same; a _tool_. Just another screw to fit in the mechanism he called his life. Just another hint to helping solve the puzzle that was his past. Just his ignorant comrade who doesn't really know that her ordering him about, her tossing him from place to place, her bossing him around, was actually helping him. . . Maybe 'using' wasn't the right word? He thought of all the synonyms he could, and yet. . . They all sounded the same. And not in a good way.

Was he seriously going to take advantage of Rin? What's more, even though she denies it through her actions, she was cordial — huh, fancy that — and kind. He also notices how ashamed Rin always was whenever she did a good deed. What, her pride was too fragile that a teensy weensy act of goodwill is going to break her tower of egotism? Len flinched at how ill he was speaking of his mistress, for she was, after all, the one who took him in when he was unconscious from trying to fight a suspect.

Rin's nervousness was growing more and more evident, as she was taking three steps at a time upstairs. She's going to trip in that rate! But that was the least of Len's worries. Just confirmed how anxious Rin was.

At the top of the stairs, where she skipped at the last tier, she dropped her white shoe, which tumbled down and down until it stopped right at Len's feet.

"Ah, Len get that for me," gasped Rin. Len cocked an eyebrow and chuckled.

_An opportunity_.

"Sure, anything for Milady." He bent down and picked it up, hurrying to walk up the stairs. A few treads below her, Len kneeled down in an uncanny impression of a prince and showed Rin her shoe.

Rin, flustered at how many people stopped walking to point at them, hissed at Len, "Len! Just give me that shoe! They're staring —"

"Ah, how modest my mistress seems to be," said Len, getting on the act. Rin clicked her tongue in annoyance and aimed to thrust her foot low at his face, but luckily when she did, Len leaned backward on impulse, trying to look unfazed. His eyes narrowed, and he said, "I'll get it on for you, then."

Len slipped Rin's shoe in her foot before she jerked it from him. He sighed at her recoil and stood up, ascending the last steps to the landing. When he walked to Rin's side, he realised that she was inspecting him; her eyes were squinted, and she folded her arms in thought, her interest in his mannerisms replacing her impatience, although she still couldn't help tapping her foot in edginess. The feeling of discomfort resurfacing, Len asked her, more curious than scared, "Yes?"

Rin raised an eyebrow at him and asked, "You're not . . . drunk, are you?"

Len almost lost his voice. "What? _No_. What made you say that, Mistress?"

Flustered at her own foolishness, Rin blushed and shifted her gaze to the floor. "Nothing. It's just that you never — you usually don't talk back after I'd tell you what you should do."

Maybe Len didn't see it at first, but what Rin said was true; he _had_ been acting a little high. Then, a sinking feeling pulled him down by gravity: Was he already so used to Rin's company that he also begun to grow so somewhat insolent?

"Is that a bad thing, Milady?" Len asked uncertainly, guilt gripping at the sides of his heart.

Rin looked like she was having a long and hard chat with herself mentally, and she, not looking at him, said, "No, I suppose not. Might do the both of us well, though."

This was perhaps the most progressively social conversation he had with Rin ever since, and that was one step to friendship in the long winding road of company solitude. He had thought before that being with Rin made him feel somewhat lonely — anybody would've if they were in his shoes — but if she just opened up more, Len's sure that she'd get along with everyone.

There was a carpet that ran all the way from where they stood in front of the humungous door down to the steps that led inside the ballroom, where the people looked somewhat crowded from dancing. There was a man dressed in black with a white undershirt underneath, his corset showing from his gaping vest. He looked to be around his middle ages; pale, tall and demotivated enough to look like death itself. From where Len currently stood — they still hadn't moved an inch since, for they were too busy trying to get the show on the road — this man's eye bags could be seen from even that distance. The usher was welcoming the guests nonchalantly into the mansion.

"Should we get going then, Milady?" asked Len, eyes fixed upon the self-important-looking people who haughtily strutted inside and walked down the staircase to the ballroom.

Len caught Rin trying to hide her flinch and pull herself together, and he wasn't sure if it was safe to disregard this anymore. Rin nodded carefully and the two of them walked towards the usher, who checked his list immediately, his eyes swimming left to right, snapping from his reverie the moment he saw Rin. The respect Len had for Rin doubled instantly; he saw how worked up the usher was just seeing Rin. Does Rin go to this kind of things frequently?

"Daughtry," said Rin flatly. At first, Len thought it was some sort of secret password that'd let them both in, but it didn't take him long enough to figure out it was actually the usher's name. _Maybe I'm a bit distracted today_. Daughtry the usher started, sweating buckets.

"Y-you may come in, Mistress Langley!"

Len was about to step into the brightly-lit mansion when he realised Rin just stood there, raising an eyebrow at the usher.

"You're not asking about my guest?" she said, not with the hate that normally came with her voice, but with leaking boredom, with the slightest hint of mockery. Flushed at the sudden attention, Len hid his anxiousness by cocking his eyebrows at Daughtry.

"You should come in right away Madam! He looks harmless enough," babbled the panicking Daughtry.

At the corner of Len's eye, he saw Rin frown. "Yes, thank you Daughtry. Have a good evening."

Rin did something as unexpected as Len was surprised about it: She slid her fingers into the gaps between Len's, creating a magnetic spark that ignited inside of Len, who quailed at the unfamiliar feeling of her warm touch, which he strangely used to think was as cold as a vampire's. Little did he know that Rin was thinking the same thing, too. _What is this guy, Jack Frost?_ Len was perspiring cold sweat in nervousness, but luckily Rin was wearing thin gloves, so she couldn't tell if he was sweating.

Rin gathered herself up and held her nose high again. Her gaze still didn't leave Daughtry's face. "We'll be going now."

And with that, she and Len marched into the ballroom, hand-in-hand still. People clad in gowns and suits alternately were crowding the dance floor, where they were dancing to the beat of the music playing up the front, just below the open patio and between the staircases that led upstairs. It was a dome-shaped ballroom with the space wide enough to fill the whole of London streets, oversizing Rin's mansion's spaciousness. There were columns on each side, the Corinthian pillars running down every foot of the corners. The chandelier, hooked up the high ceiling, towered above everything, managing to light up the whole of the place. There was a garden outside the gigantic windows that almost reached the ceiling itself, where the curtains hid the flamboyantly superb sight that was Ballard's garden of fragrant flowers. There were other people just sitting by the buffet tables, which were as long as how high the pillars were, which was such a shame because of all the beautiful amenities they could find in the ballroom. Everything inside the mansion, not counting the red curtains and the chandelier, was white.

After observing the mansion, Len tried to think; he didn't understand why Rin was overreacting too much about small things, but he figured out that it might've been some kind of security procedure.

At last they stepped on the floor, and before Len could ask Rin what he exactly thought, her grip on his hand tightened as she nudged him by the shoulder and whispered, "Tell the musicians to play romantic music."

Troubled by this, Len whispered back, "Sure, but why?"

"Just do it, and come back to me as soon as the earl's in sight," she said, and with nonchalant flamboyance, she let him go. Len gulped, looking behind his shoulder.

He had to do it, right? Just exactly what was going on in that girl's mind?

The people were waltzing there, here, and everywhere; Len had to sidestep all the people himself, accompanied by "excuse me"s and "coming through"s. He wasn't as big as the other men out there, and it was easy to get lost, however he finally made it to the low wooden stage that supported the orchestra and their instruments playing their music. There was the conductor, whipping that baton of his swiftly from side to side. Len was almost afraid to kill the music and the others dancing, but he had to do this, right?

The maestro wasn't that tall: In fact, Len'd daresay even the petite Rin was taller than him by a few inches. He leaned down to his size and cupped his hand over his ear. Len passed to him the precise words Rin told him to, and the short plump conductor narrowed his beady eyes behind his glasses up at Len, who stood up straight and hoped to God this'd work.

His orchestra was playing by the script, seeing confusedly as their conductor was still busy. Finally, and thankfully, the conductor nodded and waved his hand to shoo away Len, who took a few steps backward until his back hit the staircase's pole.

Len sighed with relief, but remained where he was to see if the little man kept his word. Just as he perceived and hoped would happen, the maestro rolled his sleeves and tapped his baton on his steel music stand to catch his musicians' attention.

And a close-to-romantic symphony was played.

Mission accomplished, Len. He deserved a pat on the back, just as he knew a loving master would a servant, but unfortunately Rin's definition of kindness isn't quite normal regardless of her wide vocabulary.

Just when Len was about to leave, the music was once again hushed down, without even reaching the chorus. Everybody stopped dancing and turned to the place above where Len was standing at, and he couldn't help but look, too.

"Everyone! Thank you for coming to my birthday!"

There, upstairs on the patio with his arms extended, stood a tall and handsome young man stood, flashing a killer smile. He had raven-black hair that swept mostly to his right side, leaving just a few strands of his hair to the other side of his face: He also had a cowlick that stuck out, and he looked like he really didn't comb his hair at all. No, it looked like he styled his hair to purposely look like that. His eyes were deep, olive-shaped and steely beige, almost as if you'd look at him, the first thing you'd always notice would be these beautiful orbs. He had muscular, tanned arms and showed no sign of paleness. Just like normal rich people, his suit looked far beyond grandiose what others expected of him; he sported a white tuxedo with gold shoulder pads with similarly made strings attached to each of them, and just across his shoulders and down his left waist hung a sash. If Len guessed correctly, judging from this young man's features, he was more or less 20 years old. Whatever of his qualities it was, it made the women clap more loudly in the audience.

It was Earl Emmett Ballard.

"It's a pleasure of mine seeing all of you here to attend my birthday." He smirked at the audience's reaction. "To be frank, I didn't expect this many guests. I am honoured by each of your presence! So, I'm acutely aware of how lucky I am to survive a complicated life as mine long enough to celebrate my 21st birthday, and to see all your bright shining faces smiling up at me. Indeed, I have faced many decisions in this life, and I have as many regrets as I have blissful times, and although I can't change this fate I have made for myself, I'm still daring to go on and fight for what I believe in, as my aunt had taught me."

A tall slender woman in her mid-forties rose from her table and raised her glass, smiling at her nephew. She was wearing a long red cocktail that reached her feet, and to the side of her face, a grotesque-looking mask with the gory colour of blood-red. As Ballard nodded for her to sit down, she did as instructed.

"Trust is essential in life, for those who've had trouble in camaraderie — realise that as you stay faithful to them, enmity also rises to oppose you. How you conquer this, you find out yourself. But no matter how friendly you are to others, you couldn't ever understand the true meaning of geniality if you don't trust yourself. If you believe in yourself, even you can beat the greatest. Perfection isn't and won't ever be attained, although nobody but our God, who is almighty and trustful, is. See Him as an example. Don't live up to anyone else's expectation except yours. It isn't talent either, how you achieve things: It's courage."

Everybody was silent, and too choked up in tears to say anything. Len didn't understand the essence of what he said — mainly because he thought they were just absolutely worthless and hypocritical — and he didn't want to; there was something about what he said. . . He couldn't point out what. Len's sharp at things like this, and he was sure he got the pattern of what Ballard said.

And with that, he ended his speech with a bow, raising his half-full glass and winking at the crowd. "A toast. To inquisitive wisdom you'll eventually attain in the future, and may God bless you all!"

Everyone cheered, applauded, and danced to the resumed playing of the music Len suggested to the conductor, with the earl walking down the staircase opposite Len in an overly lurid fashion. Len immediately remembered what Rin had told him, and he hurriedly left and looked for her.

He kicked his heel and dodged the dancing couples, his eyes hovering left to right; where could she have gone? The ballroom was so big, and he couldn't tell what kind of crazy scheme that lady was up to again, or who she'll try to involve now. The song the conductor played was distracting him, too: As if he didn't have anything more to worry about.

He figured that Rin was obviously not the type — and probably never will be — to hit the dance floor and boogie, especially not in the middle of a serious case, which in fact seemed to be so perilous that it got her all worked up, and she didn't seem to be the type to drink, and it wasn't that highly likely that she was lowly tolerant to alcohol, and if she was, she'd most likely be too weak to even do anything dangerous. He seriously analysed the likeliness of each scenario, and he wasn't in the mood to think up of something good that'll come out of all of this.

After scouring the entire left corner, he sprinted yet again, sweating profusely in both nervousness and exhaustion.

Unexpectedly, he bumped into something. And then he realised it was some_one_.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know where I was —" He was cut off in midsentence, as he heard a delighted squeal from the woman he bumped into.

"You're so handsome!" It was a short plump lady who looked far beyond Len's league and his age. She reached out her stubby fingers and pinched his cheeks _hard_.

He winced in pain, but the lady wouldn't let him go. He was seeing stars in his eyes at the agony.

"Hello, young man, I'm Madam Hopkirk," said the lady, batting her eyelashes. Len could've sworn his eye twitched. He shifted his gaze to the crowd and thought he caught a glimpse of the shortest girl in the crowd, coincidentally wearing his mistress's dress, and she was blonde. He turned back to look at the lady once again and gulped. She began flirting with him once again, hugging him as close as possible, but a little less than publically approved of. "How'd you like to dance with me, Honey?"

"P-please, Madam, I'd like to get to know you, but I really have to go now." He tried asking her politely, yet. . .

"Thank you!"

He was swept into the dance floor, forced to dance with a woman whom he was yet to be friends with. Well, he was right about this being a long night.

A few yards away, we walk into the small blonde alone in the dance floor who was having trouble perking up all of her courage in doing something. She was fidgeting nervously, and she swore to God that she was lucky to have brought a handkerchief: She was sweating buckets. Did it suddenly just become hot in here? Really, it's around 24 degrees Celsius?

Rin clenched and unclenched her fists, mustering up all of her energy. This was just for one night, and after all this, everything'll be over. Just like that. Her pride was on the line, and all she could do to save herself was lose the same amount of her pride. Ah the irony.

Here she was, alone in the dance floor, being pushed around in the crowd like a flailing fish. She wished she could gather all her courage to accomplish this, but it was just so hard. Her feet were already sore from walking around too much, and it was like this night could be printed in her very own record, which used to be free of such things as this. If she should fail, then her mission'd be over, and she'd lose her job, and her life would be over. Maybe the last one was a bit exaggerated, but she was sure she'd be the laughing stock of many.

It's all going to end the same no matter how much she thought into this; she'd still lose her exaggerated dignity. This was ridiculous, she shouldn't've agreed in the first place. She wasn't going to risk her pride, more so her life, for such an arrogant selfish stupid earl who couldn't even lift a teaspoon to save his own life. But as much as she hated to, she had to.

She detested this very much. Her shoes were cramping her toes, and she'd have to endure this until her mission was over. It seemed that this was the best way to make a move on to her faultless effortful plan, and mistakes shouldn't be made; she was asked to do this, and she will.

Rin made Len suggest such a song to the conductor to make the steps go smoothly, and many wouldn't watch such a stunt pulled by a girl as young as she in the middle of an extravagant, romantic dancing. Plus, she didn't want anyone — strangely enough, especially her low servant Len — to see what she was about to attempt to do.

When she finally got closer to the crowd that gathered around Earl Emmett Ballard, she tried to look as innocent and shy as she could. She threw her shoulders forward and looked shrunk, playing with her foot. Rin cleared her throat loudly when she thought she looked attractive enough to draw attention for more than just a few seconds and actually snare Ballard's interest. She found that around ten pairs of eyes were staring at her, and she decided to break the ice. "G-good evening."

Luckily, the ladies around the earl were polite enough to move away, and Emmett got a full view of the immaculate girl in front of him. She was twiddling with her fingers, and was blushing. Ballard leaned forward — or in another view, downward — and drunk in the sight of the damsel. In his opinion, she looked very pretty for someone her age, and he wasn't too bothered that he was standing at such a close distance in front of the young girl. The blonde kept her hair just past her shoulders and they swayed when she cocked her head down, too shy to look at him in the eye. Emmett chuckled at her and put his hands on her shoulders. "And who might you be, Young Miss?"

The girl recoiled, her blush increasing: She averted her eyes from his face and stammered, "H-happy birthday, Mister Earl."

"How cute." He bravely moved his hand to her face, massaging her cheek with his thumb. Soft as a baby's skin. . . He took in her scent; citrus. . . Oranges, perhaps? Emmett thought he saw the girl's eye twitch, but he disregarded it. "Have we met before, young lady?"

The said girl responded while looking distractedly at the floor, "I don't think we h-have, Sir."

"I don't think so either," Emmett said, standing up straight. "Would you care to tell me your name?"

The girl for a second considered telling him, but she just shook her head. "It'd be too embarrassing, especially on your honour, Sir!"

He laughed. "And why so? We're Londoners, after all."

She once again mumbled in response, "Won't someone as handsome as you be humiliated at talking to a plain girl like me?"

Ah, she was swooning by the mere presence of him. Emmett found this girl quite the charmer. "I'd've definitely not forgotten you if we did meet."

He was more than just a head taller than Rin, yet he didn't think this was such an issue. "Would you mind being my dance partner?" He held out his hand, inviting her.

At first, the girl seemed surprised. She hesitated a few times, unsure.

And, as she took his hand in shy approval, he dragged her to the middle of the ballroom, leaving his small harem of young women in the dust just to dance with Rin, who was hiding a grimace. Honestly, she didn't know whether she should be happy that the first step to her plan had gone well, or she should be upset that this was going to be a long night.

**M**inutes ticked by, and Rin was getting better at dancing, and, whether she liked it or not, acting as well; she feigned a happy, bubbly demeanour the entire time she danced with the Earl. He was laughing, chuckling; he did look like he had a good time with the girl Rin pretended to be. Soon, she found herself drunk with impatience, and she slipped up a few times, almost blowing her cover. When they stopped at their fourth song to get drinks, she complained about how poor their service was. When the earl was just about to look for another dance partner, Rin nearly shouted her lungs out to exclaim that he wanted him to be with her the whole night. Her night just got more interesting though, much to her disdain.

She convinced the earl that she was as innocent as she looked, and so far, there wasn't a sign of any assassin around. Still, she had to be sure, so she still had to put up with her 'girly school tween' act. And, speaking of missing people, she didn't see Len the entire night ever since. She hoped that he wasn't in any trouble.

People were starting to talk about her in hushed whispers, suspicion arising.

"_Isn't that Ariana Langley?"_

"_She's gorgeous!"_

"_What happened to the spoiled brat?"_

"_She's dancing with the earl!"_

"_They've been like that forever. I wonder when they're ever going to switch partners?"_

She wanted to shove her hand down their throats. Didn't they realise how diligent she was? She worked hard to prepare for just this one night! And that's her payment?

Somehow, it was easy enough to not let Emmett stray away from her sight and from their dancing partnership. And somehow, they still kept dancing for more than three hours, which was how long Rin thought she'd last. Apparently, her plan worked; keep the earl in secret security by dancing with him long enough for the assassin she wasn't certain existed to get lost keeping track of where the earl went. However, the flaw in her plan was that she made it obvious enough for everybody of the guests to know that they were always together for the night: So if the assassin was looking for the earl, it was easy to assume he was with the blonde in the simple white dress.

Also, what she didn't know was how much champagne the earl drank, because by their — what was it, twelfth? Thirteenth? — song he was practically swinging his arms, and at one time he stood close enough for Rin to smell his breath; he smelled of alcohol. Not to mention, if you needed any more proof, the earl was telling randomly corny jokes and laughed even in the silence of awkwardness.

It was a quarter to midnight when they stopped dancing for another one of their breaks. Despite it being so late, a huge number of couples were still hitting the dance floor — the songs just got more and more romantic. As it was, Rin and Ballard were already so tired.

What was different this time was that Ballard led Rin upstairs to the patio.

"That was fun, wasn't it, Earl?" she had said when they were about to sit down the chairs on the nearest table. Her feet were killing her; she was so grateful that the earl was as tired as she was, or else she feared that they were supposed to dance the whole night.

Ballard had plopped down the chair beside her, chortling. "Yes, the most fun I'd had in years of dancing!"

Rin hadn't been at all flattered, but she wasn't insulted either; that was the worst experience she'd ever had, and nothing ever came close, nor she thought something ever would. She had just nodded in response.

Surprisingly, the earl had placed his hand on top of hers. Rin had looked up to find herself in a gaze-lock with the most adamant expression she'd ever seen, with the most serious eyes that had the owner's intent seen in them. His bright yellow orbs had been glossy, and his lips had formed a straight line.

"Let's go upstairs."

And here they were, in the demonic-looking hall: Rin was quivering, trailing behind the earl, who was holding her hand as he gruffly walked to the end of the seemingly boundless long corridor, where there was a huge dark window with one pane horizontal and another vertical.

In the blackness of the night, the large marble beams with decorative candelabras looked like the devil's gateway, horns and all: They passed by the enfilades, the very definition of hell's gate what with the dark atmosphere.

This was _not_ part of the plan. She finally started the ball rolling, and then this happened: This was _so_ not according to plan. Was this going to ruin it? Surely it wasn't, however Rin's fear was doubled, thinking over the possible situations to happen. This wasn't part of the plan, yet it doesn't seem to ruin anything either — but this was still horrible news. Bad bad bad bad news. She could just kick the drunken earl and run away and pretend nothing had ever happened, but she wasn't sure if they were alone at all in the hall. . .

Rin had the suspicion that she perceived an odd presence that was following them, but she can't point out what. Something was nagging her that it was trying to sneak up on them, because if that something had any harmless intention, then it'd probably've already informed them of its presence. This something didn't seem to be as innocent as a new-born baby.

Upon closer inspection, what Rin thought was a window was actually an oddly ornamented mirror adorned with gold hinges at every side. It was almost ceiling-high, and it was as black as the night. The obsidian made it look hollow and deep, as though it were a door that connected to another dimension, a spiral black hole. There were curves and spikes that made up most of the upper mirror's portion that made it look like some weird ancient cult artefact. It more or less seemed to fit the hallway though; it seemed like it was emitting a scary aura, along with everything else Rin had seen. The first thing that Rin thought of when she saw the mirror was _sinister_: Like you could see the very reflection of your demon. It expelled all the good will Rin ever possessed, and she felt herself getting sucked into it like a magnet. It attracted her, in a bizarrely good way. There the mirror sat untouched, besotting the eyes with its ominous beauty, where it fit in the reveal between the inner face of the wall.

Emmett Ballard stopped walking, and so did Rin. He craned his neck to look at the oxeye window just above the mirror and looked at the moon, the dark menacing clouds not covering the sight. Rin's hand fell limp to her side when Ballard withdrew his from holding hers.

He was hypnotised by the magnificence of the full moon, like he was talking to it. His shadow grew underneath him and reached Rin's feet.

"You were wonderful tonight. . ." His voice was hoarse, as though he forced it out of him. Rin sensed the tension in him as he said it, and she took it as a sign for him to continue. She wasn't certain on what actions to take, so she remained where she was, readying herself. "The. . . You were clumsy at first, tripping a few times, but you eventually got the hang of it. . . You're not a graceful dancer, but your emotions were overflowing in every step. . . I can feel every ounce of your happiness. . . I'm glad I had the honour of dancing with you. . ."

For a moment there, Rin had the impression he was talking to someone else. Perhaps a memory in the work? He slurred, turning around to face her with an expression that didn't look like it belonged to someone drunk; he looked sincere, like he really meant what he said. But the problem was, it wasn't directed to Rin. (Not that she minded much.) Ballard's face was a cross between someone who looked like he came from a long journey to find something important, and he finally did and a depressed young man, who lost everything he had. Was it reminiscent regret?

Out of the blue he drew out his hand, reaching out for Rin's face, nearly staggering. Rin was about to slap his hand away, however she was hesitating so much it was already too late; his soft fingertips were caressed her warm cheek. It bothered her too much for comfort — already even passing the usual limit Rin marked. She nervously fidgeted as Ballard was making himself comfortable by taking a few steps nearer.

Rin heard the distant bonging of what sounded like a grandfather clock far away, echoing in the mansion, resonating the vibrating noise that shook the hallway. _Bong_. _Bong_.

"I wish we shared as many memories as she and I used to. . ." Ballard whispered, more to himself than to Rin. She furrowed her eyebrows, waiting to listen for more. _Bong. Bong_.

A scraping sound was heard not a few feet away, more like it was coming from the nearest enfilade. Rin's senses kicked in, overcoming her nervousness out of Ballard. _Bong. Bong._

Ballard was once again stuck in one of his memories. He tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "You . . . remind me too much of her. It thwarts the longing inside of me. . . I used to convince myself that she's now long gone. . . But I see so much of her in you."

_Bong. Bong._

Rin was silently cowering in the inside. What in God's name does he think he's doing? "My aunt always told me to move on with other women after what happened when I was younger. . . I was too stubborn to. Until now. . ."

His forehead touched hers, with him leaning down just to reach her. Electricity ran through her body, creating massive power circuits that turned her every senses on. She was now certain and was well aware that someone from afar was watching their movements. _Bong. Bong._

His lips grazed against her skin as he whispered loudly enough for the dreading Rin to hear, "Will you marry me?"

Through the silence that followed the deafening bonging, Rin heard a heart that wasn't theirs break into a million pieces.

…

**ME: **_**As you've obviously guessed, yeah, the song the 'close-to-romantic symphony' was Cendrillon ._. I'm having a blast of a summer vacation xD Ooooh! Rin's in a predicament! NOTE: THE EARL WAS DRUNK, remember? -_- Oh, and Len's outfit here is his "Hell" form from Suzunosuke's picture, and Rin's was her "Heaven" one from the same picture XD I love that art so effing much! WHAT'LL YOU DO, LEN? OH NO!**_

**CookieAddiction: LOL, I wanted to portray him as what you described, and I'm glad you liked it : D Thanks for reviewing!**

**Ann Meli: I didn't realise that until I read your review o.O That's superb! Thanks for reviewing!**

**Lolly1o1: Aww! Where do you usually use the Internet? : o Thanks for reviewing!**

**MelancholicVirus: I love your review! XD Hope you readers liked this ._. Thanks for reviewing! Actually, Connor Hayes was CookieAddiction's OC X3**

**Sunflower: Wow, you're really hooked : o I sure appreciate that, but do take care. Thanks for reviewing!**

_**More power to you guys!**_


	9. C9: Almost a Fairytale

**The Mistress**

March 18th 1888

**B**efore Rin could even open her mouth to retort to the proposal, the moment was officially ruined.

Out of nowhere, someone launched forward and pushed Rin from behind, knocking her to the wall. Rin's cheek hit the wall first, and she grunted, slipping against the wall in agony. Her vision was momentarily blurred as she tried to work on the sharp details that kept distorting over and over. Two globs were wrestling, and, for the split-second that her sight sharpened, she made out a blade that glistened in the moonlight, and she panicked. The_ assassin._

She slowly rose from her slumping position, using the wall for support, and languidly staggered to their direction — she didn't know what to do in that situation, so she just flailed her arms around and scratched the back of the slim killer, who what Rin could make out from where she was and how much she could understand from the odd shapes pinned the startled earl against the mirror. Rin heard herself cry out, "Stop!"

The dagger looked small enough to be concealed from the unsuspecting usher, and as she wasn't invited she easily got in without the usher noticing when he was distracted. Albeit its size, it looked long enough to inflict a deep wound if struck straight to the heart and make the victim bleed to death before any of them could do anything to help. The assassin held it up high with his right hand, which was prevented from moving with Ballard's raised left: Its blade was terrifyingly close to his skin, and he tried not to look straight at its reflection of him. It was honed to its tip, like a single cut could leave you dripping with poison and more. Ballard stood up straighter by pushing his back up on the mirror and gripped the assassin's wrists tightly enough to make bruises, making him hiss in detestation. However he was careful not to get too close, for the knife was dangerously nearing his body.

Rin went for the assassin's legs, screaming "HELP! WE NEED THE POLICE HERE!"

She knew she was pathetic when it came to combat — and therefore was a completely useless bodyguard — but at least she was still technically preventing danger. The assassin kept stomping his foot on the floor he stepped on Rin's hand with his heel. Rin squeaked, but just wrapped her arms around the assassin's foot, digging her shoes on the carpet so she could pull him away a bit from Ballard. The assassin could do nothing else but stand his ground and use his other foot to kick at Rin. His other hand, free of the blade, was busy clawing at Ballard's face until Ballard managed to get a hold of that hand's wrist.

"W-who are you?" slurred Ballard. He exerted as much force into pushing this man away as he managed to support his own body from collapsing. As he expected, the masked assassin refused to reply, however, he did dangerously raise the basilar. Rin grunted and rose to her feet, coiling her arms around the man's right upper limb so that the earl won't meet his death. She sure wasn't the strong type, but this was all she could do: Hadn't anyone heard her? Where were they all? The assassin's arm was flexing uncontrollably, like he was trying to shove Rin off without moving the direction of the blade's tip from Ballard's neck. "Ah!"

As far as Rin could see from all their struggling, the man's face was masked, and only the eyes could be seen through the wide rectangular slit that ran across his nose. She didn't have a view good enough to see what his eyes looked like, however she was pretty sure Ballard did — she should take the mask off. . . But whatever action she'd chose, it'd most likely only be a distraction to the poor earl and might even cost his dear life. Rin's hands were getting sweaty from all the nervousness, and her gloves were too smooth do deal much with the assassin: In a desperate attempt to slow the assassin down, Rin hopped on the assassin's back and wrapped her legs around his waist, screaming.

"Let him go!" she shrieked. Quite annoyed with how Rin was disrupting him, the assassin clicked his tongue and did a back-bend — Rin immediately let go as the assassin's back bent upside-down, causing her to fall down on the floor; his hand still unmoving from where it was directed at, Ballard leaned his head in retrograde at the glistening knife's edge. Almost smoothly, the assassin bent back to his original position like a trained gymnast from the Olympics, staring straight into Ballard's troubled eyes.

"Why're you not fleeing yet?" the earl demanded. "The girl has clearly called for reinforcements!"

Rin, upon hearing that she was addressed as 'the girl,' opened her eyes slowly and rose from the floor with her palms down on the floor to support her weight and her exhaustion. There might be someone who _can_ hear her. It was reliable that he should come immediately. She let out another shout, hoping that someone would hear, "_LEEEEEN!_"

The assassin kicked Rin in a fortunately aimless and distracted manner, for what he intended to hit missed and his heel only skimmed against the surface of Rin's stomach. He wanted Rin to shut up.

Rin however had the feeling that the assassin only wanted to finish this as soon as he could, for he was wasting no time fighting against Ballard's stronger force. The assassin's shoulders were shaking violently at the brutal combat between the two of them, but Ballard wasn't easing down either; if you look at them from a different view, it seemed like Ballard was practically helpless in his attempt to delay the assassin of his intended actions. Had he not been drunk, he might've finished this assassin off a long time ago. But as it is. . .

"That the best you've got?" Ballard gloated, smiling in spite of himself. Though Rin was sure it was the champagne talking. The assassin snarled; a low vicious growl that seemed to sound a bit forced, if Rin used the right term. Without warning, the man stopped fighting against Ballard's unbeatable vigour — they were just on a par, however he couldn't take another minute without progress — only a loss that was his being there. Without their intense strengths balancing each other to keep one of them standing, Ballard's pushing too hard without an equal force caused the both of them to crash on the floor, with the assassin beneath him.

Before Ballard got to his senses, the assassin rolled them over so that he was on top — he raised the knife dangerously, his hands quivering. Ballard felt an enormous tremor quake through his body, and he shrunk underneath the assassin. His knees were crushed by his, and despite his abominable strength, the assassin looked very petite above the earl: He was lightweight, too — should he have entered in carelessly attention-snatching attire such as this ninja costume, he should've been noticed by the security as well, imprudence not an excuse. So this assassin must've taken his time changing clothes to even keep track of where Rin and he danced soon after. An innocent figure to do the dirty job.

Rin's still too weak to stand up. _It must've still been from fatigue. _No wonder Ballard looked foiled and helpless from fighting! They were dancing nonstop for hours, and it was already midnight! She gathered all what's left of her energy to stand up — which she did with her legs still shaking — and lunged at the assassin's small back, hugging his waist.

Unbelievably, his waist was far smaller than Rin thought or what she'd seen from afar: The hired murderer let out a loud cry at her sudden onslaught of back-punching, but he was still trying to aim for Ballard's throat. His only job was to kill this man, and he must do it fast — the ones who heard the girl's scream must've already been on their way long ago. He didn't care if he got caught; he'll still manage to get away. What's important was that he should kill him. Despite his strong belief, he still had his doubts.

When he looked straight in Ballard's eyes, it seemed like he could melt just there.

Death spelled in his eyes at the fury of seeing Ballard's face, or the vehemence of having to wait for the moment of killing to come, and until now, now that he was right in front of him, now that he was at his mercy, he couldn't.

Lots of screaming and random names Ballard picked up from it filled the halls were coming from the young girl's vocal cords. "_Leeeeeen! Heeeeelp!_"

The assassin's grip on his right hand was loose, so Ballard seized the opportunity and reached to punch his face . . .

. . . but Rin pulled off the assassin's mask — Rin gasped, because she did it by accident: She was clawing at his back when the mask just latched to her gloves —

Ballard groaned at the blinding light the blade reflected from the chandelier; he closed his eyes, hearing a clattering noise on the floor. He realised that the assassin had dropped the knife, and he dared open his eyes —

— And his entire being stiffened at the sight that greeted him. He made a rough, guttural noise in aghast, trembling. His eyes were wide as saucers, and his heart was like a bird that nearly escaped from a cat's throat before it was swallowed back in. The words that he wanted long said in the past worked their way to the surface, but died like ashes in the wind on his tongue, which lay limp in his mouth when it gaped open. Memories flashed back in his mind at random, memories he wanted to forget, and he thought he already did — but he didn't, and they find their way back to his mind. He thought he'd die of the sudden flashback rush that went on in his mind like a train of scenes, and it all just had to end when the assassin. . .

No. The assassin _wasn't_ a 'he.' And not just a 'she,' either.

There, on top of him, wasn't the hired murderer he used to refer to minutes before — but she was now — and always was _— the love of Ballard's life_ . . . looking scared and frail — too much so that it was almost impossible to believe it was her who was going to slash through him, rip open his skin and tear his insides to shreds.

A pool of mahogany hair bounced down from its previous state, which was of it tied up inside the mask; her hair smelled like it used to, like he remembered it. It was wavy and finally reached past her waist, just as she had dreamt it would like the ones in fairy tale books. The beautiful sun-kissed face that belonged in both Emmett Ballard's memory and dreams was finally in front of him again, but instead of the wonderful, gleeful expression he had made her promise to always wear, it was contrarily a defeated grimace, full of the tears that fell from her glassy indigo eyes. The pair of orbs was so bright they used to brighten up his day; but now they held dews of depression. Her eyes never fail to suck him in, render him hopelessly falling deeper in love with her. That long, rounded heart-shaped face that was not so long ago cupped in his hands as he leaned in to her every time they were to share a friendly embrace was now transformed through adolescence. The small petite figure it used to be was all he could think of when he saw her slender matured body atop him, and nothing else crossed his mind. Words he thought inadequate to describe any real being just popped in his head, and he thought his own mind was going to drive him wild with overly exaggerated longing. No matter how much she'd changed over the course of time in between when they were separated to this moment, her person she was when they were younger overlapped the image of who was pinning Ballard on the floor now.

She's diviner than she'd ever looked when they were younger — however, her tears ruined the image. And of course her distorted expression of mixed psychopathic murderousness and pitiful reluctance.

Rin just slid off her back, trembling. She scooted backward until her back hit the wall, and there she hugged her legs, tired. _She just confronted an assassin_. She looked at the mask she was holding, wincing, and crumpled it before she threw it at the wall. Doing nothing more than merely watch as the assassin and the earl stare at each other, she came to the conclusion that she was missing something, for she expected Ballard to have acted long ago after she stripped her of her concealment.

Was her presence saving him, or interrupting them? She wondered, watching as they hesitantly reach out to each other (and, alternately, fidget and scoot away a bit) out of pure nervousness from their years of separation. By the looks of things, the assassin didn't even look vicious at all anymore: Rin's memory of her before her identity revealment holding a knife made her look odd.

"E-Ella. . ." Ballard's voice cracked, slowly pushing himself up. 'Ella the assassin' — it sounded weird even in Rin's head — didn't say anything in response. Looking at the long mane of mahogany hair that cascaded down to her hips, her slim feminine figure that was hovering over Ballard, Rin couldn't force herself to believe that she, this seemingly _normal_ woman — or that's how it looked like from the back — actually planned to kill the earl. It seemed as though this woman was ordered to kill Ballard, whom was involved with her sometime in the past.

Yep, Rin was _undoubtedly_ missing something.

Then, a sudden thought drifted to her mind as she watched "Ella" lean in closer to Ballard, whose face betrayed his surprise, burying her head into his chest . . . and inching her fingers toward the basilar lying on the floor. This wasn't over yet: She's feigning her tears.

Rin, out of exhaustion — what an awfully ineffectual excuse — thought her strength just willed out of her, and all she did to try to help Ballard was a barely audible gasp that she uttered lamely.

He was going to be _killed_! The assassin didn't care if Rin'd see her kill him at all: All she cared about was that she'd get the job done as fast as she could.

"Met. . ." she whispered into his ear, her hot, wet tears soaking his chest. Ballard did no interruptions nor did he any interjections: His mind was a bit too indirectly thinking, and it was working metaphorically on the cobs and the screws and the gears in his brain that were rusted with the effects of the alcohol he consumed. Was this actually happening? He thought he already passed out after Rin and him danced — or was it just another one of his stupid drunk hallucinations? Somehow, Ella activated a part of his brain that lubricated his oxidised memories and thoughts he thought weren't there anymore, and it also kind of snapped him out of his drunk self.

Behind her, he focused on a retreated figure that was slumped against the wall which his vision soggily interpreted as a huge irregular blob. It had a long limb-like extension that was reaching out as far as it could, and it had dishevelled blond hair. . .

"E-earl!"

The ear-piercing scream of the knife caused sound waves to collide as it was raised high in the air to give the assassin leverage — Rin managed to crawl her way behind Ella, but the latter, with only a thrust from her elbow, hit her jaw as she was knocked back some distance away that was far enough for her not to interfere within the next ten seconds — and she pushed Ballard, who was still too drunk for his brain to organise and read and arrange the events happening, down on the floor with her one hand before she wringed his neck, ready to plunge her knife.

The hand gripping the basilar was poised properly enough to directly penetrate his heart, where the assassin was sure to aim, and raised high to call an adequately powerful blow. There was no mercy in her eyes that Ballard found, or was hiding somewhere he couldn't find in his poor position — only lust for his death, which was etched and printed on her eyes and hunger for murder just printed on her expression. Her left hand was preventing him from sucking in the air he needed for his last breath as she was strangling him: His air passage was clocked by its tightened walls.

Ballard knew even in his drunken state what death was. . . And it's right on top of him. He was far too late to react, and in his shock and puzzlement it shook him even more. He's going to die in the claws of his beast of what used to be his best childhood friend who he hadn't seen since childhood. It's just how it'd go: A single swift stab in the heart; suffocation; preventing him from making any movement or counter attacks; an easy kill. And with the most powerful weapon she mustered: . . . betrayal.

He's at the mercy of his assassin, who knows none. At least it's her he gets to see last.

"_Au revoir, _Seraph!"

He braced himself — Rin's high-pitched scream carried through the walls, her voice slicing through the undisturbed silence that occupied the space — they heard the unmistakable screech of the basilar's edge as it was swung downwards to stab Ballard in the chest, and the grotesque excitement that was silently carried out through the look on the assassin's face — Rin shut her eyes, not doing anything in defeat, to at least rid herself of the horror that she let herself unfurl — she attuned her ears to the darkness of her eyelids to hear the anticipated hideous noise of blood splutter out of ripped skin —

but she heard nothing.

Rin dared not open her eyes just yet, but her brain started to come up with conclusions: Did Ballard fight back? Then why was it so quiet? Everything was spinning inside the void of blackness she kept herself in for that moment, and vague questions she didn't answer immediately before started to crop up too. They looked like they knew each other before. How were they involved? Did their past relationship have anything to do with this? Was she forced to do this? Why was she signed to assassinate him? Did she work alone? Round and round the queries circled her brain like vultures in the sky waiting for the carrion to rot, but the most important thing she should focus on was . . . did the blade strike Ballard?

Almost immediately after Rin asked herself this, she heard a gasp of terror from a woman (who was most likely Ella the assassin.)

The next thing that followed was Ballard's voice. "Don't hurt her!"

And then the familiar voice that said, "How lenient and foolish the both of you are."

It was —

"Len!" Rin cried out.

Len was indeed in front of her, in the flesh — his back was faced to her, since he was — Rin realised as her heart skipped — gripping the wrists of the assassin, restraining her from doing any further attempted harm with her hands. He looked more than just a little tired, and his heavy face betrayed nothing less than his disgust and his seriousness. There was a very intimidating look of contempt Rin only saw now that Len made: It looked as though he was utterly revolted to the point of detestation by the mere person he was subduing. It wasn't hard to guess — you could just see it in the hatred that Len was flaring off in his intense eyes that was potentially the reason for the hot atmosphere — that Len was using the most of his strength to not only stop the lady from continuing the horrid crime she's to commit, but to also hurt her — threaten her — to never mess with them. He was standing to his full height, form imposing, and it was clear even in the blind man's eyes that he was dominant: His hands were so formidably clutching her wrists it made her wail and cry, sobbing pain tears. Len towered over her and Ballard's figures on the floor.

He didn't immediately respond, for he was busy shooting death glares at the two, the seething one who was cowering at even the simplest, most harmless automatic thing he was doing, and the other making a face.

"I said don't hurt her —"

"You say that when she was going to slash you through?" Len said in both the loudest and the softest voice he possibly could, in a tone that was demanding and rhetoric. He didn't even give them enough time to think of something to say.

Ella was whimpering. "P-please — I don't deny what I was told to d-do — but —" She winced as Len tightened his grip, and she understood it to mean that she must hurry her response. "— stop this — I know I'm guilty!"

Rin just looked at them through tired eyes. Len . . . he heard her. She just looked curiously up at what she could see of his face from her angle in the darkness in the moonlight. He looked beyond what she could grasp was his anger. Come to think of it, she promised to meet up with him as soon as he was done with the orchestra thing. And then they failed to. He must've been pretty fretful of her well-being.

Seeming to have found his strength, Ballard stood up to almost collapse to his knees again. He was taller than Len by over a head, though he looked more of an old man due to his being wasted than someone domineering over someone so angry that there wasn't a trace of clumsiness or any of the immature qualities he was conspicuously missing with unbelievable impertinence that led him to do something very rash he wouldn't ever do had he been in his right mind.

"You don't even know her," growled Len, dragging the poor girl on the floor as Ballard made a movement to help her up. "This girl is to be thrown in —"

"I do know her!" exclaimed the earl. Len didn't think twice as he nodded his head, signalling someone beyond the hall. Rin's eyes were blurry on the edges, but she had an inkling that Len had called for reinforcements the second he'd heard her cry for help — the police.

Whatever story Ballard so wanted to tell Len that could possibly be an adequate enough alibi to prevent his childhood friend from being sentenced for the rest of her life in a cold dark dungeon confined of any freedom was easily dismissed by Len, who silenced him resolutely with one glowering look, as he was pulling Ella to her feet.

"Do get to sleep, Earl, you're drunk," Len pointed out openly as he loosened his grip just strong enough for her not to make a quick getaway while he's around on her wrists as he twisted her arms behind her back. "This girl is clearly enough a _murderer _—"

"I haven't killed anyone!" retorted the girl indignantly, finding herself justice even with what's left of her defiance: She was going to be arrested for a mission she failed to accomplish, and she hadn't done it successfully. The blonde teen's glare struck her like a laser as it shot through behind her head. Something was nagging inside her that everything should be said right now, for it'd be too late later. The smart, rational side of her soothed her in a way that didn't. _They already know. Or are as close to figuring things out as smart as they are._

Despite the police making their way to them in the grand seemingly endless hall — they were already midway there and one of them seemed to have fallen on the floor out of enervation — Ballard was still tenacious. How unlike him. It could've been easily deduced by a child that the effect of the events had now sunken in him, and he was just reacting with the fuses that were put off from igniting in his brain until now, creating an even bigger than expected detonation with the combined sparks. His 'normal' cool and sensibly determined face shone through the upset aberrant mask he was dying to take off, like you were trying to read his expression in many different ways: He was either upset or mad, but one thing's for sure, he looked like he's trying to do something stupid, and he'd probably still do the same thing even if he were his usual level-headed self; the unfinished fabric that was woven together to the very last thread so suddenly irked everyone.

"Why've you just returned?" Ballard asked, out of breath. Len didn't say anything to snap at him, and instead waited for Ella to start talking, probably interested in their conversation. Rin had been wondering the same thing.

A situation such as this just unexpectedly happening? Surely there had to be ties to this! A cloth couldn't just make itself.

Her voice sounding more than just a bit out of place in the new air that swept by in the form of Len, she said, "Who are you?"

It could either be answered simply or complexly: Either way, it's still the hardest thing Ella should ever answer. As hard as she looked at the question in any different angle, it's like there wasn't a way out of it. For one easy question can net in millions if answered just as plainly. The best position to be in that oppressed everything was to be the asker, because you hold the strings. You get to choose if the reply was passable enough for you to understand. Something equally simple like what Rin requested to know could chain in a lot of different ambiguous lies, or a perilous truth that'd endanger her.

Rin interrogated her with a seemingly easy question to answer. But what makes it hard is how she'd use the simple yet valuable information against you, and you just can't decide for yourself to trust her. Not with those earnest, passionate eyes that appear to be scanning you, like it was searching for something in your lonely poker face. She's monitoring her every reaction and impulse to the war she waged with herself: And it's like you could just _feel_ in your slightest intuition that, had she turned away or just surprisingly terminated her curious wondering, she's still thinking of you.

The look in her face was evidently firm in settlement now, though: She was having a hard time arguing with herself on whether or not she should already give up and give in. "Ella Bach."

Everybody was quiet now, most specifically the earl, who was struggling with this bit of information. Rin was observing them all too intently, cocking her head to one side, attentive; she didn't want to miss anything — even one blink — because this case was as done as she was filled with incomplete answers she solved herself with the information she extracted from their expressions and movements and what they claim were true, which were all just automatically theorised by Rin's mechanical brain. What she was doing was merely out of curiosity: Which was odd, really. Hardly anything manages to snare her attention, let alone exercise her mind into thinking of infinite solutions full of "if"s and "not"s. She had the chance to herself to just ignore Ballard's and this assassin's relations, and without even so much as a push from either of them — or any at all — she was hooked.

In the assassin's delay to talk, the police have finally reached their end of the tunnel-like hallway, tired and sleepy. (It's half past midnight.) They were (mostly) clad in their uniform, and the most of the most who're clad in appropriate attire were dressed quite inappropriately if you get what that meant; either their pants were too loose or their shirts were tucked out, peeking out of mismatched clothes. And the rest of them were still out in their nightwear, sleeping cap and all.

"We've arrived — so this 'ere's the 'sassin youse pretty boy's talkin' 'bout —"

Rin hissed, casting a menacing glare at the Cockney constable. So this was one of the reinforcements Len could find? She gave Len a side-glance; he just sighed deeply at the man's incompetence. Ballard used up what he could to stand up to his usually elegant gait. He pointed at the fat officer with the least amount of decent clothes on.

"By the power vested in me, I hereby command you to not detain this woman in jail," he announced boldly, prodding his digit on the man's "responsive" — because it _jiggled _— stomach.

"I don't think it applies if you're drunk, Sir," Len calmly interjected, but Rin was sure this was one of his 'must-lighten-up-atmosphere' moments. His attempt at humour went flat, because the expression in his face clashed with his ostensibly failed 'joke.'

The commanding cop's thick bushy eyebrows met, his round face vaguely reminding Rin of a walrus. "We jus' can't do tha', yer Earlness, she's jus' abou' committed a mur'er attempt."

Acting nothing less than melodramatically over the petty matter, Rin's voice irately rang out, forcing the others to silence, "If you will, Officer, just let this woman tell you what she claims is her explanation, we'll appreciate it. This's a crime scene, not a riot."

Their silence was their intelligent response. Afraid of turning to the blonde, they looked at the assassin instead, who was trembling in front of Len. Satisfied that they calmed down, Rin proceeded, "And take the earl to his room. He's been through a lot this night."

It's much more than that: Rin knew Ella wouldn't utter a word in his presence, drunk or not. She'd just lure her into telling the whole story. Ballard looked dumbfounded, his half-lidded eyes widening a bit. He swayed to and fro, lethargically raising his hand like he was reaching for something as his tongue rolled, "No, I can't!"

Then, turning to Bach, who turned away from looking at him (longingly, Rin suspected,) he went on, stiffly moving his foot forward. "Can't leave _her_ —"

"You're just going to forget all this tomorrow, anyway," Rin implied coldly, and then regretted it because Bach blanched in horror. Well, it's better than not having her to talk, though. Ballard looked questionably at Rin, who was sitting on the floor with an eyebrow raised.

"You weren't this unpleasant earlier." His eyes were narrowed, and he had a suspicious frown. "What happened to the nice girl I was dancing with at the ball?"

"You're hallucinating, Earl." Just as Len uttered this, Ballard turned to retort at him but he instead collapsed on the floor when Len pinched his nerve with two digits from his free hand as his other held Bach, who inhaled. The squad's troops made a move to Ballard, but hesitated at Rin's sharp voice.

"Someone take him to his room: He'll be much safer there. Make sure he's seen by a doctor, too," she said firmly, unfazed by the odd looks they're giving her. Nevertheless, one of them tossed Ballard over his shoulder like he's weightless.

"And why'd we listen to _you_?" one of them sneered, jeering Rin, who looked two heads shorter than this huge man had she stood up from the floor. His impertinence flicked Rin's burning cinder ablaze: The fire of irritation against the fire of composure.

"Didn't you hear me, you insolent miscreant? Do as I say or I'll report you to the queen," she said, trying to sound calmer than she was. Rin's eyes accidentally distracted themselves to look at Ballard's unconscious figure on the floor. She heard someone with a rough throat gasp.

They all seemed to not have realised until now. As much as she was proud of herself for behaving unlike herself this night, it also irked her how _everyone_ was fooled by her innocent disguise. At the moment he saw the unnerving glare, the burly one who's carrying Ballard started, and dashed to the door that led to the bigger mansion that was Ballard's. "At o-once, Mistress Langley!"

He shut the door behind him with a _bang_ that left the remaining occupants mute of any words to say. That's easy enough. Rin turned to Bach, whose legs were trembling. Her eyes looked like they popped out of their sockets, and the blue orbs minimised remotely in the sea of white. She hunched over, her mouth an 'O,' seemingly astonished. Her face screamed every reaction, as though she couldn't express it through words herself. "Y-you're—"

"Not just any random girl? Yes, obviously," Rin said dismissively. Whatever effect she always had on people, it always resulted to them waiting for her to end a conversation, like they were afraid to be expected of permission to talk. Today's not an exception: Everyone relied on her fixed decision. Bach seemed to have heard fairly enough about Rin to know that fear comes along whenever she's around, too. The Langleys were very well-known, and as Rin was the only living heir left, it's not uncommon to be the topic of gossip. Unfortunately, she's very infamous for her cold personality. She nodded at Bach, who recoiled. "I'm interested in your relations with the earl. I'd very much like to hear it, if you're so kind as to tell me your side of the story."

She didn't speak. Neither did the officers.

". . . As does the squad. But would you rather be interrogated in a cell than while you're still breathing fresh air in this mansion?" She's being careful about the stuff she's saying, because if Bach gets scared, she wouldn't be able to completely spill the beans.

Bach, horrified, took in a deep breath, and, behind her, Len slackened his strong grip on her wrists. "On a night quite like this, I was once dancing in these very halls. Everything had been so new to me in here — to set foot in this place that's so beautifully alien to me seemed like a promiscuous sin. It was a house just for the orphans: Heaven sent by angels."

A thin man pushed through the crowd, standing out, as he cut in rudely, "This's nothing to do with —"

When he realised everyone was glaring at him, he closed his dry mouth. Rin was determined to find out what they were to each other; the arrest immediately became an interrogation made for the station. Eventually, this confession'll lead to who told her to kill Ballard. Ella's mission was the only one carried out on his birthday: It's impossible that nobody else was involved. In addition, she didn't have a legit enough reason that led her to want him dead.

Ella Bach swallowed nervously, struggling a bit in Len's grip. Len looked like he was struggling himself, Rin believed since he was powerless in trying to hold her. Bach looked all around the hallway, restless; it seemed like she was gesturing the locked doors. "These were our rooms. This was our shelter, our haven. In this castle we call home we were safe. Before all that, I lived in the streets; I was a disgrace to my parents. They had casted me away. My way of survival was a dilapidated abandoned building. No one's been near it for generations because of the rumours _I_ spread about it."

Len's eyes flickered at that. He peered at her face. "The abandoned tailor shop with the mysterious family murder?"

Her response was a shameful nod. "Yes. It's the only thing that saved me."

"How'd you manage to find food?" inquired another policeman.

"I'm afraid you'll arrest her if she'd tell you, Officer," was Rin's reply, impatient at where this story was going.

Ella continued, "And then one day, I stumbled upon this woman. Her beauty coerced my conscience, but I was on the brink of malnourishment. Instead, I went up to her and asked for one apple. I didn't know what I was up for; what she'd given to me was something else from what I'd asked for and more, convincing me that she truly was an angel. . . A shelter to live in. A place to call home."

Dismissing the questionable faces, she went on, eyes glistening, "And then she took me in, but not immediately. I suppose she asked the same questions to everyone she adopts, but I think there's something different about one of her questions that stood out from the formal rest." Her brows furrowed at the memory, as though it was a problem she should've solved a long time ago. "I can still remember what she said. I think it was, 'Do you ever want to feel like a princess?'

"I told her I'd give _anything_ to be one. I didn't know how to read, but sometimes I sneak inside the town theatre to watch plays. . . The princesses they enacted in those fairy tales. She smiled at me and asked if I was alone — I think she's been looking for other strays like me. At first I was dubious, but anything that goes through a child's ears is genuine truth, so I believed her. Everybody who's there'd seen this woman's good deed, had seen her take the lonely orphan for her own. Yes. . ." Bach gulped. ". . . And she took me here: In this very mansion. It'd barely been occupied, for I was one of the firsts she had. Of course, she didn't want us to take her for granted — which wasn't in any of our plans at all; we're indebted to her — so shelter was what she'd amply given us. Even so, it's more than enough."

Rin folded her arms, deep in thought: So she lived in this mansion's walls along with the other orphans before? She'd known about this: How the Ballards were so nice to donate a part of their huge mansion to the children. She's pretty much sure she told Len this not a while ago, too. So to think that the earl's killer was one of them. . . Then she's sure to have known him before better than Rin thought. It's his mansion, after all. This still wasn't adding up to why she wanted her childhood friend dead. Unless. . .

Bach's pause seemed to stretch while time ticked in the person of the grandfather clock at the other end of the hall, ticking in the undisturbed silence. It broke Rin's train of thought, for she needed a key to her suspicion, which reached a dead end, a path that's blocked by Bach's story suspension.

"Once . . . upon a time, there was an orphan girl who'd brought nothing but shame." Bach's sudden switch of point of view startled them, most especially the police squad. "Then, one day, a nice lady adopted her, along with other children. She dressed her up in appealing clothes, and let her live in a part of her home she legally contributed to the orphans. It's a gorgeous palace. In those halls she had been wandering around lost, more so when she fell for the seraph in the form of a young boy who was the son of the earl. . ."

"_Emmett Ballard_?"

Len almost let go of her at the realisation — _she _loved him? Then — he's missing something. He felt his brain explode at the change of perspective: Wasn't _she_ the assassin? She was prepared to thrust her knife into his heart! This completely caught him off guard. Granted, he didn't even get there early enough to see what happened before. Automatically, he looked at Rin to search for answers in her face.

Rin wasn't the least surprised: She'd suspected something like this, Len knew for sure. He knew that face she's making: All the purity and the childish innocence her face feigned was now supplanted by the usual boorish look Len was already familiar to remember her for.

Bach looked like she was too choked up in her own reminiscence to continue. "Yes. I-it's true. We're the best of friends: We'd meet every day and share everything together. . . We're inseparable. His family would even be really nice to me. . . He'd give me flowers; tell me how pretty I was.

"I was very dependent on him. To the point of not knowing what to do without him — our friendship went on for years. . . There's a little 'problem' we had, though. . ."

"Melanie and Judas Ballard were unfortunately involved in an accident," Rin finished slowly.

Bach's tremors vibrated throughout her body, and Len caught it, too. "It destroyed him. He didn't talk to me for a long time — it was eating me alive. Eventually our thread of friendship thinned out, and then. . . It was my thirteenth birthday."

Apparently, only Rin understood what that meant. Uproar ensued among the police crew who failed to grasp what she said. At least Len managed to comprehend it.

"You weren't allowed in the manor anymore."

She could only nod. "I was of age. They needed space for more unfortunate kids, and I wasn't a kid anymore. It was the worst day of my life: Another place I called my home, and I was to be sent away again. And to think. . ." She shook her head, biting her lip. "Nobody's there to comfort me; everyone else didn't know how grave my situation was, being the eldest of them all. Also it meant that I was the first to be exiled, so it wasn't really worth my friends' valuing. None of them could sympathise, because they're all too young to understand. All but one."

Rin's senses were spiking up another mine of theories. She absorbed every word she uttered, and familiarised herself to the problem as if she were in Bach's shoes. Love; a feeling Rin was very foreign to, like she emigrated from it. She'd rather not go down that road anymore (on the contrary, she marked that off her map cleanly) but she remembered how it felt. Now, hearing Bach's story enraged her.

She bit her tongue from intruding. Rin just had to wait for the proper moment. . .

Bach was already sobbing, crying — the memory was too much for her, the fear and the pain inescapable.

"H-he hadn't seen me off — I thought h-he cared about me — he wasn't even _there_ when I had l-left! We'd been through s-so, _so_ much. . ."

Bach's legs gave way and her knees supported her on the floor; her face was concealed by her hair, but it's obvious enough she was crying her heart out: She let out a loud sad moan when Len, filled with deep pity for the girl, released her hands. He stepped back a bit and let her weep in there, her hands covering her face as the floor was rained with her tears. Clearly she'd only been a heartbroken soul.

Guilt was a nonentity in the darkness that bounded Len's heart, wrapping its tentacles around it, engulfing it so that all Len could feel was a culpable sort of melancholy, even thogh he wasn't involved in this.

As quickly as she broke down in tears, the other officers shed a tear or two, patting each other's backs. They didn't seem to care whether or not they should take Bach to the station.

Rin crawled her way to the crouching woman, who was nothing but a magnet for misery, her gravity pulling down others with her into her ditch of despair. She might as well comfort her — not like Rin _cared_ or anything. It's just that she's getting impatient. In order to know the host who made her do this, which was now a possibility because of Bach's confession of deep love for Ballard, they needed to extract the information out of her slowly. This wasn't a matter of life and death anymore: It's the curious one of love, where they're yet to grasp its depth, most especially Rin.

Carefully, Rin reached out her hand to her back, as though she was patting a very angered dog. Her fingertips barely lightly touched Bach's black shirt when she suddenly hugged Rin, who's taken by both surprise and antipathy.

_What're you _doing_? _Rin wanted to demand as she squirmed in Bach's tight embrace. She felt an enormous blush streak across her face at the humiliation. She was kneeling on the floor while sitting on her feet, and in that position she couldn't kick her away. And even if she could, she doubted she'd let go: Her arms were trapped as Bach and her locked together. What's more, she's crying on her dress.

Giving up with her thrashing, Rin sighed and patted Bach's back. The older woman howled in anguish, quivering. Rin's hand rested on the small of her back as she was barely the type to do stuff like this, thinking that not escaping now was probably something she'll regret sometime in the future. All eyes were on them, and Rin tried to ignore those who've had theirs on her. She soothed her through unwilling lips.

"Don't waste a tear on something that's already happened," coaxed Rin, random words just slipping her mouth. She didn't know how to make someone feel better at all — normally she does the opposite — and to make things worse, this's an older woman who's been through more than she did, which is saying something because she's exceptional among girls her age, experienced more in the field of love than her, who's crying. "So is that why you attacked him?"

Bach sniffed, exhaling. "N-not entirely." She bit her lip as she leaned away from Rin (much to her relief.) Despite her being older, she's the one who cried, and Rin's disturbed by the mere idea of consoling her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, frowning at Rin. "You."

At the best of times, Rin's always so sharp at noticing things and therefore was only rare when she's surprised. "What?"

Bach shoved Rin onto the floor, her nails scratching at her face: The police reacted and grabbed Bach's arms before she could harm Rin, whose elbows hurt from saving her from the impact on the floor. She just watched in shock as the woman struggled, the squad chaining her with handcuffs. Her landing on the floor was nothing pleasant, but it didn't hurt the slightest; Rin's just surprised that someone actually tried to go at her. The blood trickled down her cheek from Bach's scratch, a deathly scarlet. It's out of place in a face so fragile, no matter how it wasn't used to smiling. It ran down her chin, her slender neck that's seldom exposed, until it was absorbed by the fabric of her white dress, discolouring it.

"Milady!"

She felt arms wrap themselves around her waist (she flinched at the touch), and found that they belonged to Len, who was holding her protectively. "You'll regret that."

It's remarkable how strong this woman was: No wonder she's chosen for assassinating Ballard. The police were troubled by her. Bach grunted, still crying. "It's you! You! _You_! YOU!"

"She hasn't done _anything_!" Len bellowed at her. He looked pissed: Being uncomfortable with his "protecting" her, Rin put a hand on his to calm him down before she jerked it away.

The scratch Bach imbedded on her was unforgivable. The corners of Rin's lips twitched as she attempted to sneer: A masochistic sneer. Her eyes were full of rage, like a sea in a storm, with the waves tossing a sailor's boat. Bach seemed to've recoiled.

"You're very foolish." It's very sharp, and it rang in Bach's ears. "The only thing I can assume is that someone lied to you."

Eyes wide as saucers, Bach wheezed out, "No. I saw it with my very eyes! Emmett —"

"He proposed to me?" Rin hissed, with mockery scraping at the edge of her tone. She took one step forward; Len withdrew his hand from her wrist at her brazen statement. Receiving scandalised looks from everyone was more of Rin's habit that she forced herself to acclimate to, so when everyone stared (or glared) at her, she ignored them. "We just met tonight. We just _danced_; I barely even _know_ him. And the only reason I did all these things — the deceptive façade, the innocent demeanour — was to get close enough to Ballard to protect him from a predicted assassination! Didn't you think for _one_ second how drunk he was?"

Bach's face fell. She's waging a war with herself as the pieces fell together. Rin's gaze hardened: Bach always knew. It's just hard to accept a heart-breaking lie.

"You're lying!" But she believed her. She's too confused. The guards surrounding her were, too: They hadn't an inkling what's going on.

Whilst Rin was set to speak, Len beat her to it: He took the words out of her mouth. "You've been told to do this. Who's your partner?"

Hesitating, but intelligently realising she's going to tell them sooner or later, she surrendered. "My companion wears a hooded cloak, and came to me. I live in an inn, see. I thought it's a burglar, but I recognise that voice anywhere. They came to inform me. . ."

She shuddered, tired of glaring at Rin, who's close to guessing who it was. "They told me that Emmett was hosting a grand ball for the celebration of his 21st birthday, a debut. And that" — Bach paused — "he's planning to _propose_ to a lady. I was —"

"Infuriated?" Len supplied thoughtfully.

Bach nodded morosely. "Told me he's going to marry a _rich_ lady. That he's going to extort from her an amount of money that'd serve only himself."

Rin shook her head at the absurdity of the crude lie. "Of course you're outraged. You thought you knew him, and that on top of jealousy's a perfect concoction to brew a horrific murder through manipulating someone else so that their hands aren't dirtied."

Bach shrunk. Then she mumbled almost inaudible speech. "She told me I was her only hope of saving Emmett. . . She's Madam Elisa Reid."

Breaths that were repeatedly inhaled and exhaled in and out of their airways were now all at the same time taken in by them. Only Rin seemed to already know, like she only wanted everyone to hear it. (Len didn't know what's going on. _Must be rich people business_.)

"H-his —"

"Why!"

"It can't be."

"I knew it," murmured Rin. She flung her arm behind her, her other hand pointing at Bach. "Take her away. And arrest Emmett Ballard's aunt!"

Two of the police were in charge of Bach; they all cleared out to leave the hall. Rin, who was still facing the obsidian mirror, thinking about whether or not this investigation as a success, and Len, who's too busy taking in the stuff that happened, were alone again.

…

"So, the earl's mother was an orphaned sister of his aunt, Elisa Reid?"

Len flung Rin's father's shirt over his shoulder as they walked down the staircase to exit the manor, the peaceful dusk greeting them with the night's breeze and the lovely blue velvet curtain with twinkling stars dusted into a messy heap.

Mills was already in the carriage, in the wait below them. He was sitting on the top chair, hands loosely holding the horses' reigns. He seemed to have been used to Rin's cases for staying up to wait for them, or he made himself wake up to fetch them: He's still in his sleeping wear. Had they been in a good mood, they'd have laughed at his choice of clothes, which looked like he didn't really pick them out.

Len reckoned they still had time to discuss about things he missed. Rin had remained silent in her own duress over the short period of time that Len gathered what she told him. He thought it's a sign he should continue. "You think it's because of her immeasurable envy: Ballard's mother inherited everything despite just being adopted."

Rin slipped off her gloves, miraculously safely descending the treads with her eyes closed. "Not just that. I've found out that the man who married Ballard's mother was supposed to be wed to his _aunt_, who at the time was devastated."

Len, who couldn't imagine such a painful incomparability to someone, flinched, and then he smiled. "That's tough for Elisa. So why does she want her nephew dead now?"

"I suspect it's out of desperate apprehension. She lost her beloved, who's already her sister's husband, in an accident. Her sister died, too. What's left with her's their child." They were nearing the end of the staircase. "To earn back the position she thought she so rightfully deserved, she had to cut Emmett out of the picture. So she somehow convinced his love-struck childhood friend to kill him for a reason she alleged was avarice."

Their heels clicked loudly on the stone pavement at the weird elevation that's ground-level. Len welcomed the warm long-missed wind with open arms. Up in the mansion, it's like he was too exposed to the coldness of the night. He lazily stepped on the pedestal as he swung open the door. Rin tapped his shoulder before his head was in the carriage.

Remembering that she's his boss, he sighed and got back down, letting her get in before him. As soon as she climbed in, he jumped into it as well.

Len made himself comfortable on the seat facing Rin. He missed the soft cushion: It felt like he didn't sit on anything for years.

Rin was whispering something to Mills via the small door, and he heard Mills say, "Yes, Mistress."

He heard the horses' hooves crash on the ground before he felt the carriage move. The noise of the crickets and the occasional whinnies of the horses and the clacking of the wheels filled the evening, or shall we say, the early dawn. Usually Len's comfortable with the silences Rin and he shared, except he was curious of what happened.

Thankfully, Rin talked, looking wistfully at the window, where she could see the moon. "Bach's distraught of her last memory of the earl. She left without seeing him again. Thorns were eating away the love she felt for him into fragments of delusional sadism. Bach slipped in, invited by his aunt, and her knife went unnoticed due to the poor security."

Len rested on the seat, smiling gleefully at Rin. "I've a feeling Wellington always gives you the rough jobs."

Letting out a scornful scoff, Rin said, "No doubt. But I'm the only one who can do this."

Suddenly, a thought passed Len's mind, one that disturbed him earlier. He mustered all his courage to ask Rin now. "Milady, you mentioned the earl proposing to you." If he's correct, Rin betrayed a slight reaction she failed to hide at this. "What've you told him?"

His organ's thumping loudly: It even almost destroyed his eardrums from within. Every little thing Rin did this time was nothing less of an answer to a paranoid Len. She wasn't cut out for fighting. Yet she did her best to protect this client. . . There's something funny about that, and Len wanted to prove to himself of his suspicions.

Finally, (mercifully,) Rin opened her mouth, moved her lips, and spoke, "Nothing. Bach lashed out at us before I could."

This sentence made Len both relieved and afraid. Rin continued, Len dreading for the worst. "Anyway, as I said, he's _drunk_. He couldn't've meant it —"

"But if he did," said Len, raising his voice a bit. Then he mumbled nervously, scolding himself for being so hasty, "Would you've said yes?"

He half-expected Rin to strike: But when she didn't, he looked up at her, who's bewildered by the question he posed, much to his puzzlement.

"Love's for petty souls," she whispered darkly. "It's too late for someone who's been through as much as me to accept it as something customary. It means commitment I'm not ready to offer, because nobody's worth anything a Langley gives."

Len may have been odd to laugh off Rin's heated explanation, but he's sure he was relieved. That's the Lady he knew.

Rin pouted at Len's poor reaction, but expected nothing less from a waif. For now, she'll dwell in her dreams and her nightmares. It's time for sleep.

Love was a feeling Rin had long abandoned and had resolved to crush her past dreams involving it, promising herself to eradicate a hindrance as that out of her heart.

…

**ME: **_**HOW MANY OC'S DO I NEED IN THIS STORY? TvT Actually, Earl Emmett Ballard's supposed to be based on Mokaito ._. So you like? O3O I HONESTLY don't think Ballard should end up as Len's "rival," 'cause that's technically Connor's job-ish ^-^; The chapters're based on Cendrillon: The Lolicon version! =o Yeah, yeah. This chapter's long. Blame my interpretation of Cendrillon -_- What should be next chapter's song? XD I apologise for how rushed this was. I supposed an investigator's job is to just investigate.**_

_**TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED: Sorry, I couldn't reply to you all at once right now. It's too late into the night WORKING ON THIS FOR HOURS and I'm tired as heck. I bet this chapter wasn't what you expected, but yeah. I tried. Thanks for reviewing! I'm giving away VIRTUAL ORANGE BRULEES! X3 I always dedicate my chapters to you guys.**_


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